


lucem ac viventis

by neonheartbeat



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1700s ish setting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Gore, Catholicism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, Loss of Parent(s), Magic Mirrors, Monsters, Nobility, Nudity, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Politics, Priests, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Sex, Spells & Enchantments, The Force Is Just Magic, Virginity, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: In the midway of this his mortal life,/Poe found him in a gloomy wood, astray/gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell:/ it were no easy task, how savage wild/ that forest, how robust and rough its growth,/ which to remember only, his dismay/ renews, in bitterness not far from death/--Yet to discourse of what there good befell, /all else will he relate... discover'd there.A Star Wars take on Beauty and the Beast. Tale as old as time, in a galaxy far, far away.





	1. In Which We Are Introduced To Our Chief Players

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that there's been a Beauty and the Beast Reylo AU...thing going on for ages. I suppose you might call this a personal testament because I feel like 90% of the fic I find is based off the Walt Disney cartoon, and there's just...so much more material to work with that goes untouched? I don't know. Anyway, two frustrated nights of yelling about fairytales and practicing a different writing style later, and here is LUCEM AC VIVENTIS. Enjoy.

Once upon a time, far away and long ago, in a country whose name has been forgotten or changed by now, there was a bustling city full of people, called Corburg, and in that city lived a band of merry beggars. Most of them were orphans, and thus had no family or name to speak of, let alone riches in any number; but spent their days on the streets, lifting the burdensome purses of soldiers and very rich men, and their nights in the Court of Thieves, an abandoned and dry sewer past the main square.

Their leader was a man who called himself Poe. He was a handsome and skilled thief with a light step, and was often in the employ of a few wealthy merchants (or their wives) for various purposes, and was paid well for his services. Today, stealing delicate letters from a mercantile rival; tomorrow, taking a diamond bracelet from a mistress and returning it to a wife. With the payments for such work, he was able to provide for his little gang, so they ate bread every day, and meat on Sundays after Mass.

Poe's second-in-command (inasmuch as there could be such a thing in a band of beggars) was a man they called Finn. A deserted soldier from the King's army, he had come to them half in his ragged uniform and covered in dirt, frightened and distrustful; but upon reassurance that they would not reveal him to his commanders or indeed to any man who asked, and especially after they gave him the clothes off their backs and food from their hands, he began to be at ease, and soon joined Poe on his adventures through the city, acting as ears and eyes, and often taking his own adventures.

Which was a good thing, for upon one such adventure through the western half of Corburg, a poor and unprosperous place populated by farmers and peasants, Finn stumbled upon a troop of soldiers from the King's army, and rather than be discovered, he withdrew himself and hid in an alley, crouched down in a pile of very dusty and old straw, and that is truly where our story begins.

"I say, get off my foot!" snapped a loud voice from underneath, and he fell backwards in surprise as a girl rose up from the pile like Lazarus from the dead. She fixed him with a baleful glare and ran a hand through her hair, which had been cut quite short for a young woman, and was full of straw. "What do you mean by standing on me?"

"I'm very sorry," he said honestly. "I'm hiding from the King's men."

Her face changed, and all at once went bright, like a ray of sunlight. "Are you a brigand?" 

"I—I suppose I am, of a sort," he said.

"I've always wanted to meet one," she admitted, and stood up, revealing very torn and dirty clothing of no description. "They call me Rey."

Just at that moment, a pair of soldiers rounded the alley mouth, and caught sight of the two of them. "Ho, stop there!" shouted one, and drew steel.

"Run!" Rey shouted, and he seized her hand and dashed off. "Let go of my hand!" she insisted. "Just follow me close, and do not falter!"

She led the soldiers a wild chase over rooftop and wall, under culvert and road and through alleys so narrow Finn thought he would be stuck. This Rey clearly knew her way about the town, he thought, and once they had lost the soldiers in the hustle and bustle of the main square and he had caught his breath, he drew himself up and invited her at once to join their gang of thieves and brigands.

She looked delighted, but cast a look toward the west. "I should go back afterward," she told him, hesitant.

"Why? What could going back hold for you?" he asked.

She was unwilling to tell the tale, but slowly it came out as he led her back to the Court of Thieves. She had no memory of her parents at all, much, but she was sure that if she only waited long enough in the streets where she had lived all of her life, they would return one day.

"And how many years have you?" Finn asked as he drew the ragged curtain that separated Poe's quarters from the tunnel.

"Ten-and-nine. I think." Rey ducked through, and Poe looked up, then stood, his expression quite changed.

"Poe, may I present Rey. She has a great head for the back alleys and streets, and saved me from arrest by the King's men." Finn gestured toward the ragged young woman. 

"Rey," said Poe, and smiled. "Are you hungry? We have food. You're welcome to stay as long as you like, in exchange for rescuing my friend Finn."

"Oh, I'm always hungry," said Rey wistfully, and she looked it: a short, thin little thing with wide eyes and high cheekbones.

"Good. You will eat, then you may go where you will, whether here or there."

~

Rey, torn by indecision, settled upon staying for a week after tasting the very good wine and the meat Poe had provided. They gave her new clothes—a bodice of serviceable grey wool and a brown skirt and a clean linen chemise—at once, and also a bath, which she sorely needed. The water was cold and scummy and the soap was strong enough to burn the hair out of her nose, but she managed, and emerged cleaner than she'd been in years.

Poe invited her the next day to meet one of his employers, a noblewoman called Lady Organa. He was in the business of stealing secrets for her, and told Rey softly as they entered her grand town-house that she harbored no great love for the King, who had usurped the throne nearly fifteen years ago and stripped her of her title of Duchess and all her lands, leaving her only the town-home in Corburg that they stood in now.

"And so that she would not fight against him, he stole away her only child, a boy of fifteen, and he's not been seen since." Poe escorted her up the stairs, their feet muffled on the carpet. "Some say the King is a wizard of great power."

"There's no such thing as wizards," Rey whispered, but crossed herself anyway, slightly fearful.

"Indeed," he said, one dark eyebrow raised, and the doors to the salon opened, revealing Lady Organa.

Rey blinked and barely heard the doorman announcing their arrival. The older woman was garbed in a fine robe of deep gray silk and a black petticoat, perfectly ordinary for a noble lady, with long dark gray hair and fine silver on her neck and arms; but something in her eyes and the way she held herself suggested to Rey that she was far from ordinary. _There is something quite queer about her_ , she thought, unsettled, and took a seat when asked to, next to Poe.

"Have you gotten the letter I asked you for?" the lady said to Poe.

"I have, my lady," said Poe, and handed the footman a sealed sheet of parchment, marked with a crest Rey could not make out.

The footman handed it to Lady Organa, and she broke the seal, then read the letter. "Thank you," she said softly, and the barest change in her strict posture at once showed her relief.

The footman, clearly used to these sort of proceedings, handed Poe a purse, and Poe tucked it away in a pocket of his coat at once. "Might I also introduce my newest charge, Rey? She hails from the west side, and might be of some use to you where I cannot be."

Lady Organa looked up over the edge of the paper and smiled at Rey. "Indeed, I can think of no situation where you are not of use to me, Poe." Rey smiled back at the unexpected gesture. "But perhaps I shall call upon Mistress Rey after all. I have had several unwelcome visits from the King's men of late, demanding to see my private effects and search my home." She set the letter down. "Perhaps having a young woman acting as a sort of ward will put them off me. Nothing affrights a man more than two women sitting and doing needlework."

Rey wrinkled her nose. "Nothing affrights _me_ more than needlework."

Poe kicked her foot under her skirt, but Lady Organa laughed. "You and I are of the same mind there, Mistress Rey."  She rang a little silver bell.

Rey desperately wanted to ask if the King was really a wizard, but thought better of it as a maid brought tea and biscuits, summoned by the bell. Poe smiled at Lady Organa. "We are certainly at your disposal for whatever you need, my lady."

"Tell me, have you heard anything on the streets at all?" Leia sipped at her tea delicately, and Rey, halfway through gulping down hers, slowed and tried to copy her movements.

"I have not. I am sorry." Poe twisted his mouth into a moue of regret. "Finn was nearly arrested by two soldiers earlier this week, and Rey rescued him, but other than that I have seen no great movement or heard a thing. Not at Mass, not on the street, not in the houses."

"Indeed," the lady said, and set her teacup aside. Slightly agitated, she stood and walked to the window, looking down on the courtyard. "Perhaps it's true, then, and the King has killed my only son."

"You mustn't think that!" said Rey quickly, and the older lady turned to look at her in surprise. Rey set her cup down. "I mean—I only mean that I—" She took a deep breath. "I have no knowledge of my parents, and perhaps they think me dead. But if I thought they would never return for me, or thought for sure that they were dead, I would lose all my hope of seeing them again."

Leia blinked at her for a moment, and nodded. "Hope," she said softly, as if mulling it over. "I fear that over fifteen years I have somewhat run dry of my stores of it."

Poe stood. "We should go, my lady. I am sorry to distress you."

"Oh, I am not distressed," she assured him, waving a hand. "Fare well. And do bring Mistress Rey again next time you visit me." Her eyes twinkled a little. "She is most engaging, and I would see her again soon."


	2. In Which News Comes From The Harbor, But Nothing Goes Right

On the way back to the Court of Thieves, Poe grumbled to himself. "You cannot be familiar with the nobility like that," he scolded.

"She's just a lady who lost her son," Rey protested, her hand tucked into Poe's elbow.

"She's not _just a lady_!" Poe sounded scandalized. "Her late husband was a merchant, a very wealthy one. All his ships—the _West Wind,_ the _Falcon,_ the _Coral_ —were set upon by the Royal Navy and destroyed. Her wealth is running out. She's from one of the finest noble families in the country in her own right and holds a better claim to the throne than the King does."

"You seem to know a great deal about the King," Rey accused him.

He pulled her into an alley. "Be quiet," he ordered. "If you can't see what we're really doing yet, you should return to your pile of hay in the western parts of town."

Realization broke over her. "You're trying to help her get the throne back," she said, quite shocked. "That's— _treason_ , and punishable by death!"

"Yes, it is," he said shortly. "Let us go."

She trotted along next to him. "Is that why the King's men go to her home and look through her things?"

"Yes. Without any proof they cannot get a royal warrant, and without a royal warrant they cannot execute anyone of noble blood. You know that. Us poor folk, they don't need proof." Poe walked her down the steps into the Court of Thieves. "So we pretend to be simple thieves and beggars, and stay out from under their noses."

"What are you in it for, then?" Rey followed him down to his curtain.

"She's promised us all titles and lands once she comes back into her own," he said wearily. "And I'm sure the word of a noble is chaff in the wind, but I cannot  help but trust this one." He paused and drew a chain from about his neck. "My mother Shara was her lady-in-waiting," he told Rey. "One of the finest horsewomen in the country. She died trying to escape with Lady Organa the night that the army attacked her country estate. I was only six years old." On the end of the chain dangled a fine ring, a lady's ring with a garnet set in it, alongside a crucifix. "This was her ring. I keep it by my heart to remember her."

"I'm sorry," said Rey. "But why are you here and not—not with Lady Organa?"

"I can do more here," he said simply, and tucked the chain back into his shirt. "Good evening, Mistress Rey."

After the curtain closed, Rey stood looking at it for a long time, then went to Finn, where he was sitting, keeping watch at the back entrance. "I want to stay here," she told him firmly. "For a long time. Good evening."

"I'll be damned," said Finn under his breath as she walked away to her bunk, and leaned against the cold stone wall, muttering an apology to Saint Dismas.

~

"Rey, wake up!"

Rey jolted out of a dream and fixed her eyes on Poe, who was smiling. "Poe?"

"I have great news. Quickly, get dressed." He pulled back and shut the curtain to her sparse quarters.

Rey slid out of her pallet and ran a comb through her hair, splashing water on her face before yanking on her gray and brown gown. Her toilet completed, she hurried out and found Poe in the center of the court, telling his tale to the gathered hubbub.

"Ah, Rey," he said, smiling. "Sit!" She sat on a barrel and wondered what it could be about.

"I have here a message from Lady Organa," he said, waving the parchment. Most of them could not read, and regarded the paper with mingled awe and wonder. "She says in it that she desires an agent to go north to Tachoburg, to the harbor, for one of her late husband's ships, the _Falcon,_ which we all thought lost at sea, has come into port!"

A gasp went up from the crowd. Rey let her mouth fall open in delight.

"She's carrying rum, and spices, and all manner of fabrics and lace and jewels and gold from distant lands. All told, worth a fortune. I'm going myself at once to sign for it before the King's agents can—" a great hiss and boo went up from the gang—"and bring it all home at once to Lady Organa."

"Three cheers for the lady!" shouted Finn in glee, and the cry was taken up with a great _hip-hip hooray_   as Poe stepped off his crate and found Rey.

"She's asked me to bring you a gift," he said. "I believe her heart is quite tender toward you." He showed her the letter and pointed, and while Rey could not exactly read, she did know her letters well enough to recognize her own name on the paper. "Anything you desire, it says, with the money from the sale of the goods."

Rey brushed the paper with her fingers, feeling quite a lot of love for the old noblewoman. _Anything I want_ , she thought, and imagined herself gowned in fine silks, maybe new shoes for walking, woolen socks, a feather bed…

Unbidden, a memory came to her mind. She was very young, perhaps four or five, and someone was showing her a rosebush in a fine lady's garden over a wall. She remembered being lifted up to see the flowers, gasping in delight as she had never seen anything so lovely, the delicate smell filling her nose, and then the fear as a footman had shouted at them for looking into the garden and run them off.

Gardens were a waste of land in the western side. Why use good soil to grow flowers when you could grow wheat or corn and feed a family? Yet somehow that white rosebush had lodged in her mind and represented all the things she would never have—enough land to waste on beauty for beauty's sake.

"Will you," she heard herself saying, "please bring me a white rose? Just one. That's really all I want."

"Of course I can," said Poe, looking pleased and surprised.

~

He went to Lady Organa's house that very day and gratefully accepted the fine horse she loaned him for the journey to the port city of Tachoburg. The weather was fine, a bright and cheerfully sunny summer day with a good amount of wind, and the horse, named Beauty, seemed to enjoy it nearly as much as he did.

Poe rode north like the devil, over the wide fields that outlaid the city and through the wooded lands beyond. He carried the royal seal in his breast pocket, as a guard against any over-inquisitive King's men who might be lurking. The seal, forged from an old grant of Lady Organa's, was affixed to a paper that signified he was traveling under the authority of the King, and therefore granted him a certain amount of guarantee from harassment or molestation upon the road.

The forest was quite deep and dark, but the road was clear, and in a few hours both he and Beauty were out of the woods and descending through the passage over the cliffs that led down to the harbor.

Once in the town, he made straight for the port office, and signed for the cargo of the _Falcon_ after showing his other seal that signified he was legally allowed to take charge of the property of Captain Han Solo, Esq., recently deceased.

"Ye may not like what ye find," said the harbormaster, a dour little man with beady eyes who read the papers at the dock.

"What's that, then?" asked Poe, worried.

"Come along, I'll show ye," he said, and led Poe up to the deck, then below to the hold.

 _Oh, no_. Poe sat down on a barrel and put his head in his hands. Indeed, the hold was full of rich and sumptuous goods, but nearly everything had been damaged by salt water and half-drowned, ruined where it sat.

"She took on water coming round the point," said the harbormaster, looking at his ledger. "By th' time they realized, I 'spect it was too late."

 _Too late._ Poe wanted to kick down a door. This, the last gift of Captain Solo to his wife, a ruined mess of carpet and textile, sodden and salt-crusted. "Can any of it be salvaged?"

"Mmm, mebbe." The harbormaster peered over the ledger. "Good cleaning, p'rhaps, fer that there cloth. Spices are a lost cause, if ye ask me. Them chests were all right, though, and so was the rum."

Poe took the proffered key from the first mate and unlocked one of the six chests sitting along the wall. A sparkle of untouched and uncut jewels and a mass of gold and silver met his eyes. Hope rose in him once again. "Unload the lot, if you please. Do you know where I might buy a cart?"

~

Four hours later, his spirits were crushed yet again. Trying to sell the rum proved a hopeless task, nobody wanted salt-crusted lace or water-wrecked silks, and most of the uncut jewels were sub-par quality, according to every jeweler in town.

As he rounded a street corner to see what could be done with the gold and silver, he was caught face-to-face with a gang of very drunk King's men, who taunted him when he protested their hands on the chests, and immediately relieved him of such a heavy and troublesome burden.

"I have a bloody seal guaranteeing me safe passage!" he snapped at their leader, a lieutenant.

"And I've got a bloody flux," said the Lieutenant, to laughs and jeers from his men. "What of it?" He made a rude gesture, and Poe wished he had a sword, not for the first time. But steel was only for nobles, and he was a common spy and thief.

All in all, Poe thought, staring balefully at his cart of useless and ruined goods, it had not been a successful enterprise. The mental image of Lady Organa watching from her window in excitement, waiting for him to return, was almost more than he could bear.

Well, he would take the goods and go. The rum would sell somewhere else, and maybe with a good cleaning the textiles would be usable. He clicked his tongue and tapped Beauty lightly with the whip, and the dutiful horse started off homeward, up toward the road leading to the cliffs.


	3. In Which Poe Meets The Creature And a Bargain is Most Unwillingly Struck

It was near midnight when Poe finally reached the expansive forest between him and home. Riding into the darkness was not something that greatly appealed to him, but he steeled his nerve and directed Beauty down the forest road, trying very hard to not think of catamounts and wolves.

As the opening to the forest road disappeared behind him, he heard the distant rumble of thunder, and inwardly sighed. Summer storms were common, but not normally in the middle of the night, and Beauty whickered, one ear flicking in the light from his lantern.

"Easy, girl," he said, trying to be soothing. He could hear rain pattering on the leaves, but the forest was so thick almost no rain made it to his head. _Maybe if it rains hard enough, it will wash the silk out,_ he thought, and chuckled.

Lightning flashed, very close indeed, and Poe jumped as Beauty neighed and jerked the cart to the side. "Hey-o, steady," he said, and the resounding clap of thunder shook him to his bones.

Beauty, having decided she was better off rid of this whole affair, bolted. Poe kept his head enough to loose the reins, not wanting his arm broken by a wild horse, and they plunged off the road and into the forest.

Poe bounced from side to side, trying to hold his seat on the slick wood as the rain began to fall in earnest, great torrents of wind and water soaking him to his shirt. "Ho, whoa!" he shouted, and with that, the rear axle of the cart smashed to bits and he was flung forward from his seat into a mess of mud and dead leaves as Beauty raced off, the lantern swaying.

"Beauty!" he shouted, and staggered to his feet, trying to run in the blowing wind and rain. "You Judas of a horse, come back here!" He paused to wince and feel at his left shoulder, which was sore as the devil and felt out of joint. _I must have wrenched it when I fell_ , he thought, and began to walk, looking for the road.

The rain was still pouring what felt like hours later, and he couldn't find the road at all. The forest was pitch black, and he was sure he wouldn't have been able to find it even if he could see. Even worse, he felt as if he was being watched, a prickle on the back of his neck.

He trudged forward, as that seemed the only possible way to go. At least he would get out of the forest one way or another; it certainly was not an infinite piece of land, and at any rate he was going to get nowhere by standing in one place.

~

An hour later, chilled to the bone, soaked through, and very much in pain, he stumbled through a tall hedge and came upon a massive, iron gate, twice as tall as him and looming in the moonlight.

Poe frowned. He was sure he didn't know of any estates in the forest, or near it. The great stone wall that stood on either side of the huge gate was easily twelve feet tall and two feet thick. _What the devil,_ he thought, and approached the gate. There was no gatekeeper, no voice calling for him to halt. "Hello?" he called out, his voice small on the wind, and without preamble, the massive gates swung open soundlessly on their enormous hinges.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold crept up Poe's neck. Still clutching his upper left arm, he narrowed his eyes at the gates. _It must be the wind,_ he said to himself, trying his hardest to stave off the idea of wizards creeping unseen behind the wall. Yes, the wind. The wind had surely opened those enormously heavy gates. He crossed himself and clutched at his mother's crucifix and ring.

Poe slipped through and peered ahead into the gloom. He was in the midst of an enormous lawn, or perhaps a garden—whatever it was, it hadn't been groomed or cared for in a very long time. He could make out twining brambles and vines on the ground, tangling over what might be statues. He pretended not to hear the gates close behind him with a dull ring and trod forward, stepping lightly.

A fountain, very old, guttered water up erratically, the sound of it reaching his ears as he passed the center of the garden. Poe could make out benches, tangled with wet leaves that shone in the dark. Nobody had sat on them for ages: mold was dark in the carved grooves of stone. Or perhaps it was only shadows. He kept walking.

The great estate house was ahead of him, clear in the moonlight, and Poe stared at it in shock. It was huge: hundreds of windows, several pointed turrets and a massive stair leading to the huge front doors. To the right, past the house, a light was shining, and Poe squinted, making out a large stable, lit from within, and inside the stable—

Poe forgot his cold and hunger and hurried to the large building. "Beauty!" he cried, and the horse whickered at him, unimpressed. Her manger was full of fresh hay, and a blanket had been fastened about her neck. Her reins and the remnants of the cart were neatly stacked against the wall, and she'd been wiped down from hocks to hooves.  His heart filled with warmth at the sight—surely this estate was owned by someone decent, and not the creeping magician he had imagined.

He patted her nose. "You rest," he told her. "I'll go find our remarkable host and give my regards."

Beauty snorted and whisked her tail about. Poe left the warm stable and headed back to the house, up the grand steps and to the door. He made to knock, but the door opened as he raised his fist, and as he stepped inside cautiously, it shut behind him, leaving him in a rich dimness.

He blinked, and found himself in a massive hall, a grand staircase of rich dark wood leading up into the gloom of the second floor. To his right, he could see a grand dining hall, a great fire burning in the hearth there.

Protocol normally dictated that he wait to be announced by a servant, but as no servant seemed forthcoming, even after he called out a few times, he gave up and went into the dining room.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said as he entered, "but I was lost in the forest and—"

His breath stopped short. The room was empty. The table was laid for one, down at the very end by the roaring blaze, and he eyed it with some suspicion before hurrying down to the fire and spreading his hands out in bliss. The hearth was big enough for three people to sleep on, and he could have walked into the cavernous fireplace.

Poe let warmth seep back into his bones before turning and making for the dining chair, and as he reached it the chair slid back by itself, where it waited politely for him to sit.

"Oh," said Poe awkwardly. Moving chairs, indeed. He sat slowly, and the chair slowly inched forward under him. "Erm. Thank you," he said, feeling very foolish, but too hungry to bother with thinking about it.

He reached for his napkin and as if by its own power, it rose up, spread apart, and settled into his lap.

"Well, perhaps magicians aren't all quite that bad," said Poe, and dug into the food as politely as he could under the circumstances.

~

He fell asleep in front of the fire and when he woke, it was a pale and early morning. The dishes had been cleared, the table was spotlessly laid for breakfast, and a new set of dry and clean clothes waited for him, folded neatly on the dining chair. His sore shoulder was healed, as good as new, with no sign of swelling or pain at all.

Hoping the place wasn't staffed by ghosts, Poe changed his clothes with many an audible expression of thanks, and rolled up his old ones neatly. He wasn't of a mind to dump his laundry on an unsuspecting host. With a sigh, he brushed the sodden remnants of his ruined King's seal and letter out of his old coat, and buckled on his new boots.

After eating the breakfast laid out for him, he walked back into the hall and looked around one last time, thanked the door politely as it opened, and set out into the bright early morning sun. Down the steps he went, and saw Beauty, already saddled, hitched to a new and empty cart, waiting for him.

Poe swung up into the seat (this cart had handles and a decently padded seat, and he thought the magician who owned the castle must be a practical sort of fellow) and clicked his tongue, setting her off down the gravelly garden path toward the gates. The garden looked much less foreboding in the light: only overgrown, and very much a tangled mess.

As they passed by the fountain again, Poe caught sight of several rose bushes, all still in summer bloom and drenching the air with fragrance. _Rey!_ he thought, with a pang of regret. _I promised her a white rose._  Well, perhaps there was a promise he could still keep. Quickly, he pulled Beauty to a halt with a "whoa!" slid out of the seat, and climbed up on the bench to reach for the biggest and most beautiful bloom, dangling like a lush moon above his head.

With a snap, he broke the stem carefully, so as not to prick himself.

Beauty let out a scream of terror and kicked her forelegs, and the sound started Poe so much that he fell from the bench and landed on his back. "Ow!" he shouted, his eyes squeezed shut, more startled than in pain, and when he opened them again, complete terror overtook him.

Upside down, a huge, hulking black figure was breathing down on him. "Thief!" it roared, the sonorous thunder of a furious animal. " _Ingrate_!"

Poe rolled over and scooted back, flat against the bench. Right-side up, the figure was no less terrifying. Cloaked and hooded in black cloth, feather, fur, and metal—and over six feet tall—it gave the appearance of a monstrous creature, neither beast nor bird nor man, but some unholy mixture of all three. Poe could see no arms or legs, only a great mass of black over all. The face, if there was one, was covered by a black and silver mask, wrought to look like a twisting, horrid death's head with black pits for eyes and an open mouth. In the black pits burned a red flame, one for each eye, and Poe held his hand up instantly to ward off that terrible gaze, as fiery as the pits of Hell itself.

"Are you the master of the house?" he asked idiotically, his voice cracking in fear.

"I am," it snarled, and Poe thought the voice itself was inhuman, a deep tone obscured by something that seemed to be caught lightning, the faint buzz of a bee, quick and sharp and angry. "Speak quickly, if you wish to defend yourself."

"I—the rose is a gift," Poe stammered, falling over his words. "For—for a friend. I'm from Corburg. I was traveling to Tachoburg—to the harbor—to settle the affairs of Captain Han Solo regarding a ship that came into port."

"And who sent you there?" demanded the creature, advancing a step. "Do not lie, or I will know it."

"Lady Organa," Poe said quickly. "I swear by the blood of Our Lord that work for—I work for the Lady Organa, we thought that a fortune was on the ship, she sent me at once with all haste but the cargo was ruined and—and I lost what little I salvaged in the forest when the cart was smashed."

It was very strange, he thought somewhere in the back of his mind, dealing with a thing whose face you could not read. The creature listened, then lowered its head, red flames of eyes focused on the rose. "And this entitles you to steal my roses?" it said, very dangerously.

"No. No. The rose is for a friend." Poe wanted to drop it, but he thought that might be worse. "Lady Organa instructed me to bring her a gift of anything she pleased, and she wanted only a rose. I saw—I'm very sorry, m—my lord. I thought—"

"You _thought_ ," sneered the creature, snapping its head around to stare right at Poe. "What sort of friend is this, then, that you bring my rose to? Some soft-headed old woman?"

"No, a girl; a young woman," said Poe rather defensively.

" _What_ girl?" demanded the monster. "What _girl_ would choose flowers over jewels or finery?"

"This one," said Poe. "She's—she's an orphan with no home to speak of, no family. Her name is Rey. She's poor, but she's lively and—s-saved a friend from being arrested by the King's men."

The creature seemed to consider that. "A brave girl, to defy the King's men, then," it mused, and looked back at Poe. "You will go back to your home safe, with more besides what I have given you; for I see you intend to keep promises you make, and that is an honorable quality in even a thief. But in return for your safe passage back, you will send this Rey girl to me. You have three days. That is the price a thief must pay for stealing."

Poe's blood ran cold. "No," he said. "I cannot do such a thing. I will not deliver a helpless girl into the hands of the Devil, not even if you paid me a thousand chests of gold."

"If you do not," the thing continued, as if it hadn't heard, "then I will send such a curse upon your town such as has never been seen, and all within will suffer. For I am a sorcerer, as you have guessed yourself last night. Oh, yes," it continued, seeing the look on Poe's face, "yes, I was with you that night, though you did not see me. My servants are all unseen, and served you as they were commanded. But I walk my own castle unseen as I wish, and easily read the thoughts of sleeping thieves."

"I'll go," said Poe weakly. Rey's words echoed in his mind, _there's no such thing as wizards_. Oh, how wrong she had been.

"Excellent. We have an accord." The beastly thing turned and raised a hand, the first suggestion of a limb, and Poe stared at it. The hand was vaguely human, but sheathed in black leather, and sported claws three inches long and quite sharp at the end of the fingers. The creature then addressed an unseen person. "You will go and fetch eight chests from the treasury and put them on our guest's cart." It turned back to Poe. "You see, I am attended day and night," it said, almost casually, and Poe didn't quite know what to say.

"What shall I tell Rey?" he croaked.

"No harm will come to her, I assure you." The monster paced back and forth a little, an odd gait, the cloak sweeping the ground. "She need never see me at all if that is what she wishes. But she must see me the first day she comes, and I must see her."

"How will she find her way here?" Poe asked.

The creature seemed to think about this for a moment, then made for Beauty. The horse whickered nervously, but did not scream, and a claw reached out and touched the horse just between her eyes. "Your animal will take her here with all haste," said the creature, and withdrew, its pawlike hands tucking back into the massive, hulking cloak.

Poe nodded, and then his eyes widened as eight chests, floating about chest-high, came sauntering over the gravel and loaded themselves onto the cart, invisible hands moving them. "Ah," he said weakly.

"Take heart, friend thief," said the monster. "You may be made a gentleman yet. Present these to the lady you serve, with my compliments. Now go, and do not return."

Poe didn't need to be told twice. He clambered up on the seat and whistled, Beauty more than happy to get moving, and they tore out of the gates and back into the dark forest.


	4. In Which Rey Arrives At The Palace And Has A Series Of Nasty Shocks

"I do not know what manner of creature this is," said Lady Organa, fingering the rich, enormous jewels in the chests, "but I like it not at all. This could be a trap from the King."

"Maybe it is a trap," said Rey, who had gone as white as the rose she was still holding, "but maybe it's not. Are all magicians under the spell of the King? I've heard he—" she glanced at Poe—"is truly a terrible sorcerer."

"Not all," said the lady, lifting a bar of gold. "Some sorcerers keep to themselves and cause no trouble. But whatever this thing may be, he knows that you are no friend to the King or his men, and wants you to come to him alone. Whether those two be in any way related has yet to be seen."

"You couldn't have worked anything else out?" Rey asked, looking at Poe rather despondently.

Poe looked over at her miserably. "He's not exactly the bargaining sort," he said. "But the house is very fine, and you only have to see him once if you want."

"Once," murmured Rey, and sniffed at the flower. The scent brought tears to her eyes.  _Oh, why did I ask for such a thing?_

"How is she supposed to find the place again?" asked Finn, who had been silently counting silver coins in the corner of Lady Organa's receiving room.

"I think the place might find her," said Poe. "Even if he had not done something to Beauty. The whole house, the grounds—it's all crawling with enchantment. I left the gates and no sooner had they shut than I was on the road again, even though I had gone far from the road to find the house. Some black magic at play, no doubt."

"And if I do not go, the town will suffer," said Rey numbly. "If I had not asked a rose of you, this need not have happened. I cannot stand by and do nothing now."

"I shouldn't have mentioned you at all," said Poe. "You had no choice in this matter."

"No, I do not," she said. "For if I go, I doom myself, but if I stay, I doom you all. So of course I will go. What else could I do?"

There was a silence in the room. "Well, that's that," said Lady Organa. "Not that I like it much at all, mind you."

"I don't suppose that matters," said Rey, wiping tears from her face.

"If I hadn't trodden on your head in the straw, you wouldn't be in this predicament," said Finn glumly.

"Yes, but it's an adventure, isn't it?" Rey sniffed at the rose again. "I think—I think I can bear it, if I only have to see him once, and if he doesn't bother me."

"Well, then," said Poe. "Off you go, I suppose."

~

They saddled up Beauty with the fine saddle that the creature had given Poe, and Rey clambered up on her back, nervous. She'd never ridden a horse before, and she clutched the reins.

"Looser grip," said Poe, patting her hands. "Keep your feet in the stirrups, sit up straight, and let her carry you. Don't be afraid. Say your prayers, and keep your head about you."

"I'm not afraid," Rey insisted, swallowing.

"Beauty knows where to go," said Poe, and kissed the horse's nose. "Ride safe."

Rey turned to look at Lady Organa. "I hope all goes well with you!" she called, waving, and the lady smiled and waved back, and then Beauty was off, galloping through the gate to the street and up, up through the cobblestone to the great city gate of Corburg and out to the fields beyond.

Beauty took her right to the forest, and Rey had just enough time to think about how she was quite alone in the world before they plunged into the deep green dark, hooves thudding softly on the fallen leaves of centuries past. She cling tightly to the horse's mane as Beauty took her down the road, until they were swallowed up in the dimness of the woods, and closed her eyes, feeling very afraid indeed, but trusting the horse to take her to the great house.

It seemed only a few minutes, though she knew it had to be much longer than that, when the horse finally slowed to a walk and Rey opened her eyes to see the great gates, just as Poe had described them, arching over her head. She kicked gently at the horse's sides, and Beauty walked straight forward, the gates opening on their own to admit her entrance.

The rambling, overgrown garden spread out before her, all broken down hedges and old statues and tangled vines. Fear rose in her throat, as she expected at every turn to be set upon by a ferocious monster with glowing red eyes. She squeezed her own eyes shut tight and urged the horse forward, too afraid to open them, muttering the Ave Maria under her breath.

Beauty took her all the way up to the front steps and the wide terrace, at which point she was forced to open her eyes and dismount awkwardly. Brushing the front of her gray bodice, she walked forward and up, to the terrace and the wide front doors.

Behind her, Beauty snorted and headed for the stables. _Traitor of a horse,_ she thought angrily, but considered that perhaps if the horse felt at ease here, perhaps the creature was not all bad. _Or perhaps he enchanted the wretched thing to act at ease,_ she thought, and felt her gut roiling.

Well, there was only one way to go, and that was forward. She reached for the door handle, and the door opened wide, soundlessly beckoning her inside.

She stepped in and looked around, automatically pushing a loose lock of hair back into the knot on her head. It was huge, bigger than she had thought any house could be. Compared to this, Lady Organa's gracious home was a shack. The floors were white and rosy stone, the walls paneled with fine hard wood, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling was all ablaze, casting warm light over her.

"Hello?" she called, taking a careful step forward.

"You must be the girl," said a voice. She froze, her hair standing up on the back of her neck. The voice was— _wrong,_ off, something not quite human and not quite inhuman, deep and full and strangely buzzing, as if a bee had learned to speak. "So the thief was honest after all, and kept his word. Good. Do not be afraid."

"Where—where are you?" Rey craned her head up, half terrified that the thing would drop from the ceiling like an enormous spider, or leap off the balustrade upon her. She felt as if she was in the entry hall to Hell itself, the Devil speaking to her.

There was a pause, and a rustle from the darkened dining room. Rey shrieked and backed up until she bumped against a marble-topped table, her hand curling automatically around the base of a heavy brass candlestick. "Don’t!" she shouted, and brandished the thing. "I'll hit you! I will, I swear it by God!"

The movement stilled. "I mean you no harm," said the voice. "Truly. But you must see me, as I can see you, and ever after you need not see me again."

Rey braced herself, her heart pounding as if it would leap from her chest. She felt very lightheaded. "Then come into the light," she ordered, brandishing the heavy candlestick like a club and staring at the dark opening to the dining hall twenty feet away.

Out of the shadows shambled a shapeless monstrosity, a nightmare of black. Rey had just enough time to register feathers and fur and a pair of eyes like red flame before her vision went all to bits and sparks and the candlestick slipped from her numb hands, clanging on the marble floor, and she knew nothing more.

~

The creature darted forward on all fours, fluid as water, and caught her before she hit the floor. It looked into her face for a second, gruesome mask and flaming eyes close to the lightly freckled nose and gull-wing brows, before lifting her as easily as if she was a child in its arms, claws carefully held away from the delicate skin of the girl.

Up the stairs they went, the beast on two hind legs and walking slowly, to the second floor of the enormous house. The creature carried her down a hallway and past a few closed doors to a large bedroom at the very northernmost point, in the corner, with three great windows that looked out over the woods surrounding the house. It had been made ready, the curtained four-poster bed turned down, a fire burning in the hearth, and a meal waiting hot on the table in front of the fire, chair pulled out.

With exceeding gentleness, the creature laid Rey out on the bed. There was hardly any color to her face, but with a soft word to the side, an unseen pair of hands dabbed at her cheeks with a cloth soaked in cool water and a pink blush began to creep back into her lips and cheeks.

The creature hesitated briefly, one clawed hand hovering just above her cheek, and quickly whipped a fold of his cloak in front of its masked face before stepping back to a respectful distance. "Mistress," it said softly. "Do you wake?"

~

Rey inhaled and smelled the strange mixed scent of hot food and another, stranger smell of unwashed wool and fur and something birdlike. _Feathers,_ she thought, then remembered all in a start the hideous vision, and opened her eyes to see—

Oh. Well, with a piece of cloth hiding everything but the glowing eyes, it wasn't quite so terrifying. "Ah," she said, awkwardly, looking around. "Am I—"

"You fainted," it said softly, and she could hear the effort it took to pitch the voice to not be so deep and thunderously frightening. "I'm sorry to have frightened you."

"No, it—" She hesitated. "I think I was just startled out of my wits. And I haven't eaten all day."

It indicated the tray of food on the table. "Your luncheon," it said. "And—if you are not too opposed to my visage—dinner is at six precisely."

"Six," she echoed, and bolstered up all her courage. "Well, you can't use your hands to eat and cover your face at the same time, so let me see the mask."

It tilted its head slightly, appraising her, then dropped the fold of cloak. Rey's heart leaped into her throat. The mask gave her quite a nasty and unpleasant feeling in the pit of her belly and up the sides of her arms and neck. It was formed like a death's head, silver and black enamel, a gaping, twisted dead mouth and silver teeth. "I don't suppose you can remove it," she said.

"I cannot," it said, and took a step back.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I shall see you at six," it replied, and departed with a soft rustle of feathers and fur.

Well. That was uncomfortable. She shook the shivers from her body and got out of bed. The luncheon was delicious, a hot stew of hearty vegetables and meat—and it wasn't even a Sunday!—and tea and rolls and a salad of greens and nuts, and after that had been finished, she stood to look in the wardrobe, a carved and beautiful thing standing along the wall.

A dazzling array of clothing met her eyes, and she pulled out gown after gown and petticoat after petticoat, amusing herself by matching all the petticoats to their gowns and then mixing them up again. There were riding habits and hats to match. Clean linen and soft cotton chemises, night-robes, slippers. There were shoes, combs, brushes, hair ribbons, stockings, garters, rouge—every possible thing that a young woman of high status would want or need. Rey looked at herself critically in the mirror and figured that even if the only company was a host of unseen and unheard servants, she might as well look nice when she attended dinner.

She turned and saw, to her shock, the luncheon tray floating away and out the open door, which she had not heard open.

Hearing about something like invisible servants is one thing. Seeing it with your own eyes is quite another. Rey let out a piercing scream, crossed herself, and flung a hairbrush at the tray, which went flying wildly, spattering the remnants of lunch across the fine carpets. "Oh, holy Christ!" she shrieked, and clambered up on the bed as the tray picked itself up and a cloth swept out to scrub at the carpets. "I'm so sorry. Oh, I've ruined the carpet."

The cloth lifted and danced back and forth as if to wave hello, and Rey waved back, feeling foolish. "Are you—are you a maid? Erm, bounce up the cloth once for yes, twice for no."

The cloth rose up once, and Rey laughed in spite of her pounding heart. "So you're my maid. Sorry. You gave me a start. I'll let you clean that up before I ask you more questions. It must be awful not being able to speak."

The cloth bounced up once, for _yes_ , and continued to clean until the carpet was mostly salvaged, then floated up to about chest-level, and Rey realized that the unseen maid must have stood up. "Right," she said. "How long have you been…like this? Wait, that's not a yes or no questions. Um. Has it been more than ten years or less? Once for more, two for less?"

The unseen maid considered, and lifted her cloth once.

"Oh, that's a long time, then. Is it—is the house magic?" Rey inched to the foot of the bed, interested.

The cloth bounced up twice in quick succession.

"Ah. No, the house isn't magic. All right. But your master—the creature, he's magic?"

Up went the cloth once.

"Yes, he is? So he put you under this to punish you, or—" The cloth was already bouncing twice quickly and fiercely, _no_ , so Rey cut off her question. "Oh, someone else did."

_Yes._

"A powerful sorcerer? Someone more powerful than the master of the house?"

_Yes._

"Oh. I wonder why. I certainly can't ask you why, of course." Rey considered, and realized—"Wait! Was it the King?"

The cloth froze in midair, and quickly threw itself onto the tray, and before Rey could blink the tray was being carried out of the room and the door was closed.

"So much for that," said Rey to the empty room.


	5. In Which Rey Attends Dinner With The Creature

At five-fifty on the clock, Rey was adjusting her new gown and trying to figure out how exactly to sit down in it. It was quite nice, if a bit out of fashion judging by the kinds of gowns Lady Organa had worn, but she had never had an eye for fashion, having spent most of her life in rags. She did like colors, though. Deep, forest-colored silk made her eyes look greener, and she'd carefully applied far too much rouge, then washed her face and tried again to a better effect. She didn't care for the tight stays, so she'd slipped on a pair of jumps for comfort, and her invisible maid had pinned her hair up, leaving a fashionable ringlet down at her throat.

The bath had been heavenly. The house had hot and cold water piped in, and it had taken some fiddling with the handles and invisible hands meddling with the boilers but she had eventually gotten herself a hot bath, and thought she'd die of the pure luxury. Finely milled soap, not the caustic lye; and fresh clean towels. She quite liked the thought of having another one as soon as she could, and decided that it perhaps was not so bad to live in such a strange house after all.

The door opened and a gloved hand extended to her, floating at the end of an unseen arm. "Good evening," she said to the hand, and took it carefully, half afraid she'd yank the glove off and never find the hand again.

She and her invisible escort went down to the dining hall, and she stood in the doorway feeling very foolish until the Creature (as she had begun to think of him) made his presence known by rustling all the way down the stairs, so that she was prepared when he came to her elbow and extended a long, clawed limb.

"Shall we?" he asked, and she swallowed her dislike of the strange voice before nodding and letting him lead her into the dining room. He pulled out a seat for her and she sat, watching him as her napkin floated up and tucked down on her lap. She had thought that he moved like some monstrous insect, but now she saw that he moved like it pained him, a shambling shuffle that was as ungraceful as it was ugly.

"Are you in pain, sir?" she asked, trying to at least appear considerate.

"Every day, mistress," he said, and held up a hand as the invisible servants filled his glass full. "I would ask you to bless our meal, but I heard several very ungodly words from your chamber earlier, so I fear you may not be fit to do so."

Rey blinked. There was a note to the strange voice—he was _teasing_ her! She flushed bright red. "As I haven't confessed my sins yet, perhaps you should bless the food." To tell the truth, the only prayer she had managed to memorize was the Ave Maria, and she wasn't even sure what she had been baptized, but she did enjoy Mass, at least when she could make it to church.

"Ah, but I am a creature of sin and suffering and therefore unfit to," he said, with a light tone masking a slight tinge of bitterness. "So, if you would."

Well, that seemed reasonable enough, and she didn't think God would mind. She folded her hands and bent her head. " _Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen_."

Rey raised her head and reached for her fork, and saw that the Creature was sitting quite still at the head of the table. "Is something wrong?" she ventured.

"My mother taught me that prayer," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Rey, setting her fork back down. "Is she…did she…?"

"Die?" The Creature shifted. "No. But I have not seen her in many years."

"Oh." Rey let an invisible hand serve her a choice cut of meat from a platter.

"Our friend the thief says you are without parents as well," said the Creature, leaning forward slightly.

"I am," she said, and chewed on a bite of meat. "They left me when I was very young. I don't know who they were or if they are dead."

He raised his wineglass. "To absent parents," he said, half-mockingly. "May they rest well wherever they be, in this world or the next." She raised hers automatically, then felt curiously sad as she sipped at the wine.

As the meal progressed, she saw that he did not eat, only sat with an empty plate and watched her. She wondered if the question would be considered rude, but was too curious to _not_ ask. "How do you…eat, if the mask doesn't come off?" she asked.

"It comes off," he said shortly.

"I thought you said—"

"I said I could not remove it. I did not say it was permanently affixed to my face." He swiveled his piercing red eyes to hers, and she wrinkled her nose at him, unperturbed, then finished her soup.

"Then how does it come off?" she inquired, and she was almost sure she saw the flames in his empty mask eye-sockets roll round the socket, as the pupils would do if he had eyes and was rolling them.

"You ask far too many questions, Mistress Rey," he growled.

Rey waited. He sighed, a huff of muffled breath, and leaned back. "I am able to remove it every night for one hour. I perform the necessary actions at that time, and it goes back into its place when the hour is up. In this fashion I receive nourishment."

Intrigued at this practicality, she sat back. "Oh," she said. "I don't suppose I might see—"

"No, you may _not_ ," he said sternly. "I do not allow even the unseen household to attend me for that hour. You are my guest, and I will not subject you to such a thing."

"It can't be that horrible," she insisted. "It can't be worse than the mask."

"Many things are far worse than masks," he snapped, and stood up. "You may finish your supper alone. I've lost my desire for company." He stalked out, his cloak sweeping the floor, and Rey felt tears gather in her eyes, dripping down her face. She sniffed loudly, and an invisible hand delicately dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she told the unseen maid, and the hand patted her gently on the shoulder. "I suppose I shouldn't have pressed the issue. But this place is so _strange_." The hand cupped her cheek gently in sympathy, and the doors opened and a pair of unseen hands brought her a fine little pudding stuffed with plums and other things she liked very much. She cheered up a little and ate it all by herself in the dining room, then excused herself and left.

She wanted very much to explore the enormous old house, but with the angry Creature lurking around somewhere, it didn't feel quite safe. She poked her head into the gallery, full of portraits; and the music room, and the corridors on both sides of the great entry hall, but it wasn't until she found the library, just behind the gallery, that she found him.

He was slouched down in front of the fireplace, and books of every size and shape and color surrounded him, piled upon table and stacked on shelves, books with strange figures and shapes that Rey couldn't read. His head was bent, and Rey felt pity for him, this strange monster who had had a mother once, a mother who had taught him to pray.

"I only have one question this time," she said softly, as he heard her footfalls and turned his head. "What—what shall I call you?"

He did not answer for a very long time. The only sound was the crackling fire. Finally, he looked up.

"You may call me whatever you wish," he said. "I fear I have forgotten my name."


	6. In Which We See The Creature Unmasked

Rey fell into a pleasant sort of ritual in the next weeks. She woke at dawn, said her prayers, and ate breakfast in bed, attended by her invisible maids. After breakfast, she dressed in a riding habit, and went to the stables to ride Beauty about the grounds, assisted by an unseen master of horse. It was easier than she thought to take lessons in horse-riding from an invisible person—the master of horse would tap her knee to indicate proper poise in the saddle, and poke at her until she was riding properly, then open the great door and let her out. This daily exercise combined with a steady diet of meat and hardy vegetables filled her out, so that nearly every week she would enter her chamber and find invisible hands frantically letting out the arms and sides of her gowns, and she found herself strengthened, able to do more every day.

Luncheon would be served on the back terrace, if the weather was good, or in the salon if the weather was bad. The Creature had discovered her inability to read one evening after dinner, and immediately decreed he would teach her every day after lunch, so that was where she found herself every afternoon, holed up in the library while the Creature painstakingly showed her the difference between first, capital letters and lower-case ones, and then the differences between _day_ and _Rey_ and _may_ and _pray_ and drilled her on how to properly hold a pen.

"Which one is this?" he would ask, pointing to his carefully scrawled "TODAY".

Rey would squint and sound out the letters. "T. Tuh. O. Toe. Toe-d-dah-day. Toad-y?"

"To _day_ ," he would say. "O says _uh_ because there's one. O says _ooh_ when there's two." Then he'd hold up another piece of paper, showing her "TOOL". "Try this one."

"Tuh. Too-l. Tool!"

"Correct," he'd say, very pleased, a smile in his voice: and there was never a better feeling than when he was proud of her.

(As her skill increased, he began to leave her short notes for ease of reading, clumsily written on account of the claws but each letter as clear as he could make it. _I shall be in the Library all day, no lesson. Regards._

She started to write him letters back, careful small cramped letters: _I Roade the Hoarse Beeuty tooday and She Jumpd very Hi ovr the Paschur Fense. I wish yoo culd Ride with Mee it is Very Xiting. regards)_

After lessons, she would take a quick tea and change for dinner, then meet him in the hall. She never brought up the question of seeing his unmasked face again, and he never ate at table, but it was pleasant to sit and have company while she nibbled at whatever the cook had brought them. The unseen servants were one sort of company, but it was much nicer to have a person to speak to and to hear speak back to one, even if said person was a hunched creature in black.

One evening, there was a single red rose brought out to Rey with her dessert, a custard, and she picked it up with delight. "Oh, how lovely," she said, and sniffed it.

"Ah," said the Creature, moving as if he was discomfited. "A gift from the kitchen staff."

"From the—" Rey peered into the swinging door from where their food always emerged. "For me?"

"Yes. It's their way of saying they like you very much indeed," he said. "That they… approve of you as mistress of the house."

"I—oh," said Rey, and stroked the soft petals, inhaling the delicate fragrance. "It will be autumn soon, and there won't be any roses."

"No, there won't," he agreed. "But there will be trees that change color in the wood, maple and other such things. You might like to ride about and see the colors of the leaves when you go out."

"Oh, that would be lovely," she said happily, then glanced up to the clock over the mantle. "Why, it's nearly nine-thirty. I'd no idea we spent so much time talking tonight."

He started out of his seat quite quickly. "Excuse me, I will retire," he said quietly. "Good evening, Mistress Rey."

"Good evening," she said, and watched him go out, listening to the rustling of his cloak as he ascended the stairs.

She didn't know what possessed her. She rode from the table and followed, her brown cotton gown making hardly a noise. An invisible hand pulled urgently at her sleeve, but she shook it off and kept walking, out to the hall, up the wide curve of stairs.

Ten o'clock. That must be the hour at which he removed his mask. His attitude when he had realized the time, his quick retreat—it must be.

Another hand desperately plucked at her skirt, but she ignored it and reached the top of the stairs, quietly sidling down to the part of the house she had never explored yet, the second-floor chambers directly ahead inhabited by the Creature. She slipped into the outer corridor and inched closely to the door, shut tight, light streaming out from beneath the crack.

Something was moving behind the door. The hands pulled frantically at her clothes, but she batted them away. _I won't look. I'll just listen. That's all._ She remained, as still as a mouse, waiting for she knew not what, her breathing loud in her own ears.

Below her, the great clock in the hall struck ten, a deep, ringing gong of a sound, and behind her, behind the solid oak door, the Creature began to scream.

Rey froze, her blood gone cold in her veins, as the hands fluttered about her face and pushed and pulled. She was stuck to the spot, pressed against the wall, listening to the sounds of mortal agony coming from behind the door. The wet, filthy sounds of flesh tearing made their way to her ears, and a gibbering snarl, then another wail of anguish.

 _Father Francis was wrong, all wrong,_ she thought, cowering there in the dark. _He said Hell was full of devils and torment. But Hell is behind this door, and all the devils are here._

Another heartrending scream, and she knew she couldn't stand it a second longer or she would be sick. She had to do anything, anything to make the noises stop, and running away would do nothing at all, so without thinking, she tore herself from the wall, flung the door open, and quailed at the dreadful sight that met her eyes.

The Creature was half-crouched, half-kneeling on the floor of his bedchamber, the hulk of his cloak moving as he breathed. The room was a torn wreck, the bed wreathed in tattered black curtains, the furniture broken and hurled across the room every which way. She barely saw the room, or the state of it. Her eyes were stuck, immovable, on the Creature's face, and his eyes were trapped on hers.

The mask had been torn from his flesh, the hideous thing mercifully face-down on the floor, the inside coated with blood. And his face…Rey swallowed, unable to look away. She had seen the hunt, seen butcher shops and entrails and enough blood to be able to stomach it, but just barely.

The face beneath might have been handsome, or ugly, or anything in between. She tried to find the human form beneath the raw and ruined flesh, but could see nothing at all. _No_ , she thought, steeling herself, _that is not true_. He had a high forehead and what had likely once been a fine long nose, and his lips and eyes had not suffered as badly as the rest of his face, but it appeared that the mask, by some black magic, was as much a part of him as skin and bone and flesh, and removing it tore away the skin and flesh of his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, where it hung in bleeding ribbons. His hair, what little she could see, was matted down dark with blood, and there were tiny feathers growing along his hairline, black as soot, like the feathers on his cloak. She wondered, strangely detached, if the feathers there were decoration as on the cloak, or part of him, sprouting from his skin.

"Go," he said, through swollen, cracked lips. "Get out."

She shook her head and approached, and he shuffled and scrambled backward, fetching up against the foot of the bed. "Let me help you," she said, nearly in tears. "Please."

"You cannot help me," he rasped, his voice strange without the inhuman tone the mask lent it. "Leave me be." But his eyes (not red, but a warm, rich brown) were glittering with unshed tears, and the next moment they spilled down his raw cheeks, and he cried out in agony from the sting of the salt, bending in on himself in pain. " _Go!_ "

Rey turned and addressed the unseen servants, who she could almost sense gathered outside, afraid to look in. "One of you, bring me cold water and a clean cloth. Quickly, please. We only have an hour."

As the unseen feet pattered away, Rey got down on her knees, as if she was at Mass, and inched her way closer to the Creature. "Shh," she said gently, extending her left hand. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't," he said, but his voice cracked and wavered, and he struggled to stop the tears.

"Give me your hand," she said.

"I'll hurt you," he said hoarsely. She could see the shape of his face behind the blood now; a well-formed and strong face, perhaps even a handsome face.

"You won't hurt me. Give me your right hand," she reassured, and cautiously he leaned forward, extending his clawed and gloved hand. She pressed her palm to the back of his gloved hand, feeling the bone and sinew beneath. He convulsively squeezed his fingers into a fist, but opened his hand again and lightly brushed the back of her thumb with his, the claw well above. "See? No harm done."

He rolled to his knees, his hand still in hers, and braced himself on the floor with his other arm, looking down as tears fell from his eyes and splashed there, mixing with blood. "I missed—" he whispered, and took a great breath. "I missed the touch of someone else. Very much."

"Yes, well," she said, not knowing what to say to that. The invisible servants set down the water and the cloth beside her, along with a sachet of herbs. "Thank you. You can go. I'll stay here."

The door shut mostly, the barest crack open, and Rey turned her attention to the ruined face. "Come, now," she said, and got him into a sitting position while she let the herbs soak in the water. Still holding onto his hand, she knelt beside him and dipped the cloth in the water, then carefully dabbed the wet cloth on his raw brow.

He groaned and bared his teeth (very good teeth, white and large and slightly crooked) while she held it there, then dipped it again and pressed it to his cheeks, one at a time. The water in the bowl was beginning to turn pink. "How did you hear me from your chamber?" he asked between her ministrations.

"I didn't," she said quietly. "I followed you up here, and heard a noise like the Devil himself was dragging you to Hell."

"And instead you found a devil in Hell already," he said grimly, and grunted as she dribbled cold water onto his forehead.

"You are no devil," she said firmly. "You are—there is some curse, some magic on you. Will you not tell me what it is?"

He closed his eyes, giving the illusion of a reverse death's head, the only untouched skin around the circles of his eyes and his cracked and swollen mouth. "I must eat," he said faintly.

"Let me," she said quickly, and set the bowl down, taking up the tray that his servants had set there in preparation, as they did every night. There was gruel, and a great dish of vegetable stew, and a glass of water and another of wine. "No meat?"

"Meat is off-putting to one, when one comes to know one's own meat quite well," he said dryly. "And sometimes I find myself in too much pain to chew."

"Drink this," she told him, handing him the water. His clawed hand clutched it, absurdly birdlike in conjunction with his raw but human face, and he gulped it down, his throat moving.

Rey viewed his throat with interest. The skin there was whole, the flesh solid; the white, pallid color of someone who did not venture into the daylight often, but tiny new feathers were growing there too, creeping from behind. "Are you…I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm only curious, and you need not answer. You appear to be turning into a…bird."

"Something like that," he said, and set the glass down empty. Next was the stew, which he ate with both hands and a spoon very quickly, and lastly the gruel. He kept dropping the spoon, which was smaller and not suited well to his large clawed fingers, and in frustration and pain he swore. "God _damn_ it all—ah, my apologies, Mistress—"

"I'll do it," she said, and took the spoon from his hands, scooping up the gruel and holding it up. He dutifully opened his mouth and she inserted it, then removed it, and in this way they got on quite well until the bowl was empty.

He picked up the glass of wine and drank it in one draught, setting it down. "I'd give my left arm for something stronger than wine," he said darkly.

"I'll have them open up…brandy, or something, for tomorrow night," Rey promised. "Is there—can I do anything else for you, sir?"

The Creature gave her a long look. "Remember my face," he said. "I was a man, once; and not a monster."

She shook her head. "Will you not tell me the nature of the curse?"

"I cannot tell you how to break it," he said softly. "The curse itself prevents me. But I can tell you a spell is laid here upon the house, and all its servants become unseen and unheard; and if the spell is never broken, I will become a creature truly; a thing neither beast nor bird nor man, and doomed to the service of the sorcerer who cursed me so. The process is slow, you see. In the beginning, I knew my name, and the mask was all that I was cursed with, the agony of removing it every night. Then my limbs began to change, to deform. My legs bent back and became like a beast's. I grew claws like a bird. I wear the great cloak to hide my form, which would terrify any man who laid eyes upon me. I forgot my own name. I forgot my mother's face, and the face of my father. And now the feathers are closing me up, to my neck, my head, my face, and once they do, I shall not know myself any longer. Oh, God!" He pulled his hand to his breast with this utterance, and bent over it, looking at the long black claws.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "I think I would be better off dead."

Rey reached forward and laid a hand on his curled talons, avoiding the wickedly sharp point. "I," she said softly, "shouldn't mind if you put off the cloak, once in a while."

He looked at her with mingled astonishment and hope, and covered her hand with his other one. "No," he said, something like a smile on his ruined face, "you wouldn't mind it, would you? You, who have seen me with my face uncovered; you would not run in fear from a twisted body."

"I don't care a whit if your face is here or there or anywhere," she said with some heat. "I'm not afraid of you."

"No, you are not," he said softly. "Are you?" His hands paused on hers, warmth soaking through the leather of his gloves, and Rey had a terrible, awful impulse to pull his cloak off and see for herself what sort of shape he was.

She reached up with her free hand, and sank her fingers into the thick fur to find the fastening. He watched her with some curiosity, and let her unclasp the cloak, the thick and tattered hodgepodge of it all falling down to the floor.

Beneath the cloak, he proved to have on only a black shirt and pair of tattered breeches, but as Rey looked down closer, she saw that his legs began like a man's and ended in what looked like the hind legs of a great cat, furred in glossy black, usually hidden by the sweeping cloak, and his legs were bent abnormally, as he had said, backward, his knees inverted. "You said you were in pain," she said reaching down and brushing his knee without thinking. "Oh—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be familiar." She snatched her hands up, cheeks flaming. "Forgive me."

"Oh, forgiven," he said casually. "Here, you may see—" He bent to roll up his breeches, exposing the area in question. Rey sucked in air through her teeth, her misstep forgotten as she beheld the flowering bruises and swollen joints.

"How do you walk about?" she asked, horrified.

"In pain," he said. "If I don't, the joint locks and becomes as stiff as wood, and I limp dreadfully as it gives me even more pain. It would be easiest to go about on all fours, but—" He pressed his lips together, and didn't elaborate.

"And—" she said, looking at his sleeves. "I see feathers."

"And fur," he said, and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the forearm. He was already thickly furred there with the same glossy, dark pelt that was on his lower legs, and feathers sprouted along the outside lines, mostly at the elbow. He wiggled his claws and turned his arm this way and that, so she could see. "I fear one morning I shall wake and have the fangs of a cat," he said, half joking, and snapped his teeth together. "But so far there has been no tail, which is some very small relief. I shouldn't know what to do with a tail."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Or a pair of ears, I hope."

"Ah, now the ears," he said, and pulled his hair back. His ears had become furred with the same glossy pelt, and they were slightly pointed, lying flat against his skull. "The only real improvement. Before, they stuck out monstrously. Now, I might hear a step in a hall on the other side of the house—if I pay attention."

"Might I—" She hesitated, but he glanced at her. "Could I touch them?"

"If you wish," he said, and she reached up, pushing his dark locks out of the way (he hadn't washed his hair in ages, and it was thick and greasy and choked with dried blood, tangled like mad) to stroke the soft fur of the ear gently, the feathers behind his ears all of a tangled mess. She set to work stroking those with her fingers, preening the little barbs out of a habit she had started with her writing quill, and she felt a shudder go through the Creature.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"Don't stop, lady," he said, in a very queer voice she hadn't heard him use before. It was quite soft; breathy, and almost desperate, a whine to it. He leaned his head into her hand, and she stroked his hair back before resuming her work on the little feathers, and felt his body go quite tense as she worked every feather back into its place and let his hair back down.

"Shall I do the other side, too?" she asked, and he let out a breath he'd been holding.

"God save me, yes," he whispered, and she leaned to the other side, fixing and stroking down the feathers between her fingers until every little one was perfectly smooth, and she felt him exhale hot on her shoulder as she let his hair down again.

Suddenly aware that her dinner gown was the sort of thing that pushed one's breasts directly up to the neckline of one's gown, and _very_ aware that his face was mere inches from her bare skin, she swallowed and leaned back. "Is it better now?" she asked.

He looked distinctly shaken, and she thought how novel it was to finally see the facial expressions of someone who normally had none visible. She had become so used to reading his posture and hearing his voice to decipher his mood that seeing expression was rather strange. "I—yes. Very much." He let out a soft breath again and closed his eyes. "Do you know, I think that was the first time in years I wasn't thinking about being in pain."

"Tomorrow night I'll wash your hair," she informed him, glancing at the clock. They still had ten minutes to go until eleven, but she didn't think she could stand seeing the mask go back on.

"Until tomorrow, then," he said, and followed her glance. "Ah. Yes. If it's not too much—of course, I wouldn't order you to stay, but if you could bear it, would you stay until it's back on?"

"I—" She hesitated, torn between her fear and curiosity. "Is it very terrible?"

"It's not as bad as taking it off," he assured her. "I only ask because…" he swallowed, his throat moving white below his raw face.  "Because I never liked being alone when it took me again."

"Then I'll stay," she said firmly, and knelt beside him, her hand in his claw, waiting for the clock to strike.

"Mistress Rey," he said quietly, as the clock counted down the last minute. "It was a pleasure to look at you with my own eyes."

She looked at him and offered a small smile. "It…it was a pleasure to _see_ your eyes," she said awkwardly, but he smiled anyway, and as the clock struck eleven the terrible mask leapt up from the floor and flew at his face. His clawed hand tightened around hers as he struggled, muffled cries coming from the mask until the horrid thing had fastened into his flesh once more and the red flames of light in the eye sockets were alight, peering to and fro until they found her.

"Rey," he said, and it was the awful voice again, the buzzing, half-human speech from the twisted skull that masked his tone and made her hair stand up upon her neck. She forced herself to remember the gentle voice, and that made it easier to bear, the memory of the ruined man beneath the mask. "Rey, don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," she said firmly, and seized by some impulse, brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers, just where the claws began. "I'm with you."


	7. In Which Rey Finds Herself Quite Attached to the Creature

The next night, Rey went up with him before ten o'clock, carrying with her a basket of soap and other toiletries. The servants had been all a-dither with the master's bedchamber, tidying it up and setting a tub of water to heat in his bathroom.

The Creature opened the door for her and she passed in, smiling at the change in the place. "Oh, they did a lovely job," she said. "Not a speck of dust." She set her basket down on the table by the roaring fire. "I used to be a housemaid," she told him, tucking a lock of hair under the kerchief she had used to tie her hair back. "Only for a few months, though. The lady accused me of stealing and I was turned out, quick as you please; and back I was, on the street."

"That was wrong of her to do," he said, shedding his cloak and hanging it on the provided stand. He stretched, made a small noise of discomfort, and got on all fours, stretching out like a cat. "Ah, God," he moaned, and she heard his hip joints crack as he extended his feet, five-toed and padded. His claws dug into the floor in an ecstasy of movement. " _Much_ better."

"Why don't you go about on all fours, if it hurts less?" she inquired.

"Ah. Well." He turned about to face her, and she suppressed a shiver, the sight of the ghastly mask bobbing between his hunched shoulders. "I suppose I keep telling myself that as long as I can go about on two legs, I shall stay a man, and stave off the curse's end."

"Oh," said Rey, and glanced at the clock. It was very nearly ten. "Well, I shall think you a man no matter how you go about." She wiped her hands on the apron an unseen maid had helpfully tied about her waist. "And speaking of going about, you might as well take those dreadful things off and go sit in the tub. The water's nice and hot."

He paused in his tracks, clearly surprised or shocked, perhaps, by her suggestion, but then the clock was striking and the Creature screamed in pain as the mask tore away from his face of its own accord, clattering to the floor and leaving behind the red, raw face of the man beneath. He cried out in agony again, staggering to the right on all fours, and Rey kicked the mask, with some violence, so that it slid across the floor and fetched up against a table leg, before wetting the cold cloth and pressing it to his bleeding face.

"There, it's off for now," she said, trying to be soothing. "Can you undress on your own?"

He groaned as the cold water soaked into his flesh, and fixed her with a baleful brown eye. "I am not undressing in front of a young lady in my own chamber," he said, sounding scandalized. "I may be half-beast, but I at least remember that isn't a thing that's done."

"Then do it in the bathroom," she said, removing the cloth and soaking it in the basin. "It's not as if I've not seen what a—what a man looks like."

"A _man_ ," he said. "Not—this." He indicated his body: fur, feathers, and claws. "I'll call for you when I'm—when I—well," he finished, and stalked off to the bathroom, still on all fours.

Rey busied herself shaving soap for the hair and listening to him through the wall. She could hear a groan and a hiss, then a sigh as he sank into the water, the sound of sloshing confirming it. "Are you decent, sir?" she called out.

"As much as one can be, under the circumstances," he replied, and she walked in, holding her basket in front of her rather like a shield.

He was sitting in the round tub, the water up to his chest, which was furred and feathered all the way to the breastbone. That remained the same pallid, gloomy white of a mushroom stalk that his throat was, in a narrow strip down into the water. His matted hair was still dry, and his bleeding face was dripping into the water slightly. "Mistress," he said, a bit over-formally.

She set the basket on the floor and sat on the stool, politely averting her eyes from looking directly down as she did so. "Lean a bit back and wet your hair," she ordered, and he obeyed, scrooching down so that his neck touched the water, then scooping up water in his clawed hands and dribbling it over his hair. "Oh, never mind," she said, fighting a laugh. "You're too big for the tub. Turn round and face away from me, and I'll take care of it."

The Creature did as she said, and Rey bent over to take a dipperful of hot water and gently pour it over his head. He held a hand up to protect his ravaged face from the water, and shuddered as the heat coursed down his neck. "When on earth," she asked, soaking his hair and trying in vain to disentangle it, "was the last time you washed your hair?"

"Before I grew these," he said, waggling his claws. "You try washing your hair with a few knives strapped to your finger-nails and see how you get on."

"Lord have mercy," said Rey under her breath, and brought out a handful of the shaved soap, working it into his hair. What little lather there was turned reddish-brown and pink with dried and fresh blood, and she washed it out into a bucket, then lathered up a second time, scrubbing his scalp with all the care she could, trying to avoid his ears and the feathers about his neck.

His head went rather limp, and he let out a blissful noise, letting his head fall back as he kept a hand up to protect his face from the stinging soap. "I do believe," he said hoarsely, "that you're trying to kill me, Mistress Rey."

"Oh, how so?" she asked, making sure to work out a large chunk of old blood from his left temple.

"You administer to me all the delights of Heaven, so that I may find death a reasonable exchange, and any pain an easy price, to enter those blessed gates."

She blushed in spite of herself, and was glad he wasn't looking at her. "You're not dead yet," she told him firmly.

After one more wash, she was satisfied as to the cleanliness of his hair, and was obliged to turn her face away and hand him a linen sheet to wrap himself in as he stepped out of the tub. She sensed the whisker-quick servants coming to empty it, and kept her face turned as he dried off. It was nothing they had not seen before, but she felt a bit of privacy would be appreciated.

After he was dry, a robe slung about his shoulders, they went back into the bedchamber, where he sat down a ways back from the fire and held a cold cloth to his face while Rey combed his wet hair. There were a few muttered curses and yelps, several snarls and tangles too hopelessly thick to manage without a pair of little scissors, but Rey managed, and soon all his hair was combed smooth to a thick, shining dark brown, nearly black.

"You have lovely hair," she said, surprised, as she ran her fingers through it. "Oh—I'm sorry, I—" Rey quickly dropped her hands, consternation on her face.

"There's no need to apologize," he said softly. Slowly, he dropped the robe a little, exposing his upper back and the feathers and fur that grew there. "You—you may touch me all you please. I am entirely at your disposal, madam."

Rey reached forward and stroked the soft fur just at his left shoulder. He moved slightly, and she felt the thick muscle beneath gather into knots and stretch into long, lean cords, the fur gleaming as it shifted. Her fingers traced down and righted a few feathers, stroking those and generally preening him, and he relaxed, the robe dropping down lower.

"I suppose the feathers are sensitive," she said, feeling him shiver as she finger-combed out a few long pinions.

"Very," he said softly. "When I first began to sprout them, I tried to pluck them. That was…a mistake." He let out a soft sound as her hands went lower, running the sooty plumage through her fingers. "Felt like chopping off a finger. Never again. Ah—I say, can you go up a little higher to the right—there." He exhaled softly, leaning into her hands as she tidied up his damp plumage.

"I don't suppose you purr?" she said lightly, her hands moving elsewhere.

"I might," he said. "If I am greatly content, or otherwise—oh, bloody Christ, _yes_ , those have been a wretched tangle for weeks and I could not reach—I—I do apologize—"

She chuckled, her fingers busily grooming away. "No need to apologize, sir. I would brush you, but I'm afraid they don't make a comb for feathers and fur together."

He turned his head slightly, the blood clotting on his torn flesh and gleaming like rubies in the firelight. "Your hands, my dear lady, are comb and brush enough."

Rey felt oddly warm. She must be too close to the fire. "I—well, very good," she said, stupidly, and shook her head. "Sorry. I think the heat is muddling my wits."

"And mine as well," he said softly, turning away and looking into the fire. Rey dipped her hand in the cold water and sprinkled some on her face and chest as if it was holy water while he wasn't looking. "Well, the first half of the hour is past. What shall we do with the second?"

"I should like to smash that mask," she said, her hands still lingering in his warm pelt.

"I have tried," he said. "Unfortunately, the sorcerer had already thought of that. I cannot break it until I am free of the curse."

"Must someone go on a journey to free you?" Rey asked. "Or must I find some hidden key in the house and—and unlock a chest, or a book that will tell me how?"

He chuckled, slightly sadly. "No, Mistress Rey. The spell cannot be broken by reciting words, or any physical means on this world. I fear the means is beyond me now. But I am glad—" he turned again, and looked at her—"I am glad that you are here, and that you have become a dear friend to me; so I shall not descend into darkness alone, but with a companion who at least knew something of the man I was."

Rey tried very hard not to cry. "I won't leave you," she promised, and lay her calloused, working hand on his furred, clawed one. "I won't."

"I am glad to hear it." He covered her hand with his and pressed, the only touch he would allow himself to give her. "You are mistress of the castle as much as I am master, now. Your word is my command, and I will do as you ask for the rest of my days."


	8. In Which Conditions Deteriorate, Greatly

Summer turned to autumn, and the Creature began to change, bit by bit. Rey, from her place on the terrace or in the garden by the fountain,  painstakingly reading through a book, would see him on all fours more often than not, great humped shoulders rising and falling as he shuffled through the gardens, claws and paws brushing aside the wilting and dying roses. He spoke less and less, sometimes not even saying good morning or good evening to her, and she did not attend him in his chambers anymore when the clock struck ten. As time went by, she saw less and less of him as well, going entire days on end without a glimpse of him at all.

The leaves began to turn, just as he had said they would, and she took many long rides through the orchard and fields, enjoying the crisp, brisk fall air and the blue skies while she could. She was not looking forward very much to winter, and sharing the house with the Creature (who was becoming a beast quicker than she liked, she was sure) and a hundred invisible pairs of hands for company.

"But then, I don't suppose you mind, since you'll have the stables," she told Beauty.

The horse whickered and twitched an ear. Rey sighed and patted the animal gently. "Back home, then. It's nearly time for dinner."

Dinner had also become something else. Sometimes the Creature would not come down at all, on some occasions he would join her. But more often than not, she found herself quite alone at table, picking at the sumptuous dinners and rather wishing he was there.

 _Certainly not out of desire for his company,_ she told herself firmly. _If there is a wasp in a house, I like to be able to see it._

After dinner, she walked up and down the gallery and explored the other nooks and rooms of the great house. She had finally explored nearly all of it, and had counted two hundred and fifty rooms in all, upon six floors—bedrooms, drawing rooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, laundry, kitchens, store-rooms, and the wine cellar—but her favorite room was fast becoming the enormous library, where she could pore over books for hours on end with none to disturb her.

She was nearly through the first part of Dante's _Inferno_  one night when she had not seen her host in several days _,_ and had just made it to the part where the shade of Virgil appears in the dark wood to Dante, when the door opened and the Creature shuffled in on all fours, halting at the sight of her.

"Mistress," he said, and his voice sounded rough, as if disused. "I did not wish to disturb you."

"I'm not disturbed," she said, which was not entirely true, as his appearance had somewhat startled her. She pointed to the seat beside her. "Please. I need someone to make sure I'm pronouncing all this right."

He hesitated, then got up on his two hind legs and painfully made his way to the chair, settling into it like a large cat and drawing his cloak about him, both flaming eyes fixed upon her.

Rey cleared her throat and began to read.

                _Now was the day departing, and the air,_  
                _Imbrown’d with shadows, from their toils released_  
 _All animals on earth; and I alone_  
 _Prepared myself the conflict to sustain,_  
 _Both of sad pity, and that perilous road,_  
 _Which my unerring memory shall retrace._

The Creature stirred slightly, but did not speak. Rey stumbled a bit over the longer words, but made it all the way down to the appearance of Beatrice, as told by Virgil.

                _I will instruct thee why I came, and what_  
                _I heard in that same instant, when for thee_  
 _Grief touch’d me first. I was among the tribe,_  
 _Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest_  
 _And lovely I besought her to command,_  
 _Call’d me; her eyes were brighter than the star_  
 _Of day; and she, with gentle voice and soft,_  
 _Angelically tuned, her speech address’d:_

He corrected her on her pronunciation of _angelically_ , but did not otherwise utter a sound. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Creature's head bend a little, but didn't call attention to it, just kept reading and reading, all the way to the very end, _I enter'd on the deep and woody way,_ and shut the book, feeling quite exhausted.

"That was well done," he said softly, and Rey half-smiled with pride.

"It gets easier every day," she said modestly, and glanced at the clock. "It is very nearly the stroke of ten, sir."

"Indeed it is," he murmured, and slid off the chair. "You will, I trust, forgive me for departing."

"Of course," she said, setting _Inferno_ aside. "Shall I... stay with you?"

"I think that would be unwise," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "Good evening, lady."

"Good evening," she said, and watched him go out, feeling very much helpless, and rather at a loss for what to do.

~

Nearly a week after that, she woke out of a sound sleep at ten precisely, feeling very clearly as if someone had just been standing over her and calling her name urgently.

A distant howl echoed down the corridor, and she shivered, but swung her legs out of bed and gathered on her robe, hurrying out and down to his chamber in her bare feet, leaping lightly from carpet to carpet to keep them warm.

His door was flung open, and she looked inside to see him writhing on the floor in a wreck of broken furniture, unmasked and bleeding, his teeth bared wide. To her great astonishment and distress she saw that the fear he had jested of had come true: he had indeed grown fangs like that of a cat.

"Oh, _sir_ ," she said, and stepped forward into the light.

He jerked his head up, scenting her like an animal, and she saw that the skin around the outer parts of his face was thick with black feathers, creeping inward to his cheeks, and those parts did not bleed, but the nose and brow were raw and ruined. The nose, she could see, had become wide and flat like that of a large cat, and darkly furred. "Begone," he snarled, and turned his face away, whether from shame or pain she did not know. "You should not see me like this."

She stepped in and knelt on the floor, reaching for him. "It's not long now," she said softly, and touched his cheek, soft and shiny with black plumage. "Is it?"

"It is," he confirmed, and bent forward so that the tears he shed would not touch his raw and open flesh. "I fear I may not know you at the end, lady; and that would be the greatest loss of all."

Rey stood and fetched the pitcher of water and the basin, then dabbed gently at his face. "I have noticed your behavior is…changing," she said.

"I wake sometimes and know not where I am," he said, closing his eyes as she let the water fall on his forehead. "The pain—I fear it is driving me mad, even without the monstrous form." He lifted his head and looked at her, and she saw that his left eye had become coal-dark, like that of a crow, while his right eye remained human, brown and warm. "There have been times I have seen you upon the terrace and not remembered from whence you came, nor your name—then I remember and am ashamed for it."

"You may always ask me," she reassured him, setting the water aside. "I will gladly tell you."

"Beasts do not ask," he said bleakly. "They leap upon an intruder in their place and tear them all to pieces, and that is where I fear my mind has led me the times I do not know you."

Rey sat back on her haunches and eyed the sharp claws, the massive body. "Shall I remain locked in my bedroom?" she asked, hesitantly.

"No. You should not stay here at all." He looked at her, and for the first time seemed to realize she was clad in only her nightgown and robe, her hair loose on her shoulders. "I do not wish you to be harmed. I—" he swallowed, and she saw the thicker feathers on his throat bob slightly. "As a man, I would never harm you, and so I swore to your guardian. The beast I am becoming makes no such promise. You should depart at once, and go back to Corburg, to your friend, the courtly lord of thieves."

"I promised I would stay with you until the very end," she said firmly. "I would not let you be alone."

"And I treasure that promise," he said. "I will until the day my reason departs, and I go about like a lion, seeking who I may devour. But I shall not have you present that day. No, you must go."

Rey felt tears gather in her eyes. The thought of seeing her friends again—Poe, Finn, the Lady Organa, the band of brigands in the Court of Thieves—but never again to see the Creature, or hear him laugh, or have merry conversation with her invisible maids in this strange place which had become like home? "You will have to make me go by force," she quavered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I will not leave you. I _promised_."

A flash of anger crossed his face. "By _force_? Saint Michael, have you heard me? Have you seen me? _Look_ at me!" His voice had gone dark, down into a resonant thundering snarl. He bared his teeth, the gleaming fangs on display, and spread his claws, each one sharp as a razor. "I could tear you apart limb from limb. I could break every bone in your body like a match-stick." He spread out his hand-paw and placed it on her chest, just over her heart, the single enormous paw covering the breadth of her body wholly, each claw just penetrating her fine nightgown in a wide circle. Rey froze, quite silent. "Even now," he said, "I can hear your heart beating. I can smell the fear on you. All it would take is one—" he twitched his fingers toward closed, and she did not flinch as the very tips of the wicked claws dug into her soft skin, tiny pinpricks of blood welling. "And I would eat the heart of you," he finished.

"But you wouldn't," she insisted, her belly roiling with terror in spite of her words.

"But the creature would," he replied, and withdrew his great claw. "You will leave in the morning. I will send you with whatever you desire. Now go to bed."

"Sir—" she began, fighting the tears filling her eyes.

"GO!" he roared, and she leaped to her feet and ran for the door, slamming it behind her and racing pell-mell back to the safety of her bedroom, where she crawled into bed, heart pounding and pinprick wounds aching as she sobbed into her coverlet and wished with all her heart she had been born a sorcerer, even if they were condemned to Hell, for who would wish on any man such a fate; and what person could look at him and _not_ wish themselves possessed of a magic to lift such a curse?

Alone in the great chamber, the Creature staggered to his hind legs for the last time, bellowed in pain, and dropped to all fours, clawing up the fine wooden floor in a fit of mingled rage and helpless, torn fury.

                _O full of pity she, who undertook_  
                _my succour! And thou kind, who didst perform_  
 _so soon her true behest!_

It was the last thing that entered his mind before the red rage of the creature he was fast becoming swallowed him up, and he floated, dazed, like a man clinging to the back of a mindless mount.


	9. In Which Rey Departs, and Returns to Corburg

The next morning dawned cold and clear, the smell of oncoming winter in Rey's nose as she smoothed down her favorite riding habit and waited for the master of the house to see her off.

Her eyes still reddened from tears, she waited until a pair of invisible hands fastened the bulging saddlebags shut and the front door opened, the Creature emerging.

Beauty paid him no mind as he approached them both. On all fours he was still nearly as high as the horse. "You will kindly send my compliments to your lady and your friend thief," he said roughly.

"Of course I will," she said, trying hard not to cry again.

"Is there anything you desire that I have not given you?" He looked up, the grotesque mask gleaming in the sunlight.

"I should like—" She bit her lip. "I should like a way to look back upon you, more than anything, so that I may see you, and so you might know that you are not quite alone, sir."

He paused at that, and motioned to one of the invisible servants, who brought forward a small, polished round mirror, decorated with jeweled roses and enameled vines, and gave it to him. "I have kept this safe for many a year," he said, handing it up to her in the crook of his clawed paw. "If you wish to see anything on this earth, even me, only ask it, and it will show you."

"Oh, thank you," Rey said, and plucked it from his claw, admiring the work on the back before slipping it into her pocket. "I shall keep it, always."

"Well, you must go," he said awkwardly, and stepped back. "May all the saints protect you, Mistress, to the end of your days."

She fought more tears and frantically searched for a handkerchief, which she wiped her eyes with. She wanted to say _May God bless you and keep you,_ but under the circumstances it didn't seem quite appropriate. "Good-bye, all of you," she said instead, and wheeled Beauty about, riding hard for the gate with her eyes tightly shut so she would not look back and see the Creature, standing all alone on the terrace.

~

"He did _what_?" asked Poe, quite incredulous.

"I told you, he let me go. Made me go." Rey downed another swig of good brown ale and wiped her nose with her handkerchief. "At least we have money enough to frequent taverns now." She gestured to the interior of the establishment they sat inside. "And you look very fine."

"Well, thank you," he said, looking down at his fresh linen shirt and new leather coat. "But—he let you go? He was bent on keeping you there forever. Saints preserve us, what did you _do_?"

"Nothing!" she insisted. "He taught me to read and write, like I told you, and said I should be mistress there, and gave me all I desired, and—he's dying, Poe." Fresh tears flowed, and Finn offered her a clean kerchief, which she accepted gratefully and blew her nose on. "Or at least, the man is dying. The creature within isn't."

"Could I see the mirror?" asked Finn curiously. "The one you said he gave you to see whatever you wish?"

"Oh, yes. But keep it out of sight, or else someone might think us sorcerers." Rey handed the mirror over to Finn, who peered at it.

"Show me Lady Organa," he whispered, and went quite ashen under his dark skin as the reflection shimmered and showed him, like a perfect miniature, Lady Organa sitting in her drawing room and reading letters. "Saints preserve us," he said, and crossed himself before handing it back to Rey.

"It's not black magic," she insisted, slipping it back into her pocket. "At least, not of the Devil, I mean."

"Well, you don't know that for certain," said Poe reasonably. "Father Francis says the Devil makes things pleasing and lovely to the eye, to ensnare the hearts of men."

"Then the Creature must be of God Himself," said Rey, with some heat. "For I've truly never seen a more gruesome and pitiful thing."

"We should bring this before the Lady Organa," said Finn. "She will know what to do about it. We will call on her tomorrow, as early as we can."

~

The lady, seated in her salon, took the mirror in her hands and sat quite still, as if struck dumb, looking at the delicate little thing. "Where did you get this?" she asked, in a voice Rey had never heard her use before.

"From the Creature. He gave it me not two days ago, and said that if I wished to see anything on this earth, I should ask it, and it would show me." Rey folded her hands in her lap, dressed in one of the gowns the Creature had given her—the brown silk, her favorite one.

Lady Organa set it in her lap with a trembling hand. "I gave this to my son a year before he was stolen away by the King," she whispered. "It is mine. I fashioned it myself."

The implication hung in the air like smoke, and Rey started out of her seat, shocked. "You're a sorcerer? A witch?"

"I am no black magician," said the lady, and turned the mirror over. "I dabble in white magic only, and I see things some may miss. They said my father was a knight of Faerie, but my mother never spoke of him to me at all." She darted a glance at Rey. "I attend Mass like any good Christian, Mistress Rey, and I shall not turn you into a frog; kindly close your mouth before a fly makes it his new home regardless of any such transformation."

Rey obeyed and then opened her mouth yet again. "But Father Francis says—"

"There are more things in heaven and earth and the realms between than are dreamt of in the imagination of Father Francis," said Lady Organa rather sharply. "Magic is Magic, and knows neither white nor black of itself. It is how you use the gift of your blood that defines the sort of person you are. But this mirror—how came it to be in the hands of such a creature?"

"Perhaps the Creature helped to spirit away your son," suggested Poe. "And…kept the mirror as a token?"

"He wouldn't!" Rey snapped. "He would never—" But she thought of how he had roared to frighten her into going, and subsided.

"The King has something to do with this, mark my words," said Lady Organa, rising from her seat in agitation.  "I think we must all reside quiet and at ease for several weeks, and I shall keep this mirror safe. After all, windows may be used to look both ways, and we do not know what other enchantment might have been placed upon it."

Rey bit her lip as the lady crossed the room and gently set the mirror into a carved box with strange symbols upon the lid, then shut it fast. _But it was a gift to me,_ she thought despondently, _and now I shall never see him again._ Outside, the first winter's snow began to fall, large flakes that stuck fast to the windows and melted, gone in an instant on the warm glass.

"You three shall be guests in my home for the winter." Lady Organa turned around and looked at them. "When the snows melt in the spring and the road to the forest is clear, we shall go and see what manner of creature this is."

"But you'll be too late by then!" Rey cried. "He's already failing. Whatever curse or sorcery has doomed him to the form he possesses; it will take his mind with it, and soon. He told me he had already forgotten his own name, and he was forgetting me. By spring he will cease to be a man, to be reasoned with, and will be only a beast."

"Then we shall defend ourselves by whatever means we possess," said Poe, laying his hand on the hilt of his fine new sword.

"Did you ever see his face?" asked the lady Organa.

Rey shut her eyes, wishing at once that she could see that ruined wreck of gore once more, and also shuddering to think of it. "The mask he wears—the death's head—it is sealed to his flesh, but comes off every night for one hour. And when it comes off, it takes his skin and… flesh with it. Yes, I saw his face. Butchery and ruin, bleeding and shapeless. All I could see were his eyes, and even those had begun to be beastly by the time I departed."

"What were his eyes like?" asked the lady intently.

"Dark. Full of pain, always. He would hide away from me sometimes, when I came to help."

"Dark," said the lady, and paced.

Poe slipped his hand off his sword and took a step forward. "My lady, fifty thousand men from here to Tachoburg have dark eyes."

"That is so," she said quietly, and raised her head to look about the room at them all. "Well, then. We shall wait a month, and set ourselves off to see this creature, be he man or beast when we arrive. I think in the circumstances—"she looked at Rey—"we might be persuaded to perhaps hasten this meeting. In the meantime, I shall write a letter to my brother, to see whether he knows aught of such work of the King, that might torment a man so. Good evening."


	10. In Which A Mortal Soul Is In Danger Of Perishing

The next fortnight was a cold and unhomely one. Rey spent most of her days wrapped in woolen blankets before the fire in her small room, and said many thankful prayers that she was not out on the streets, for it was a winter unlike any had ever seen in Corburg, and the snow was five feet high in the streets.

Poe and Finn had taken to frequenting the taverns all around the city and listening to the talk within, to see if anyone else had also stumbled upon the great castle in the forest. Rey, not being the sort of person who would go unnoticed at a tavern, even in the company of a pair of dandy ruffians (meaning, a woman), found herself resigned to the daily trials of sitting in Lady Organa's drawing room and taking tea or practicing the harpsichord in the corner.

After discovering that the creature had taught her to read and write, Lady Organa asked her kindly to read to her from her small collection of books. "I am not as young as I once was," she said by way of apology, "and my eyes fail when seeing small things quite close." Rey at first viewed the shelf of bound books with suspicion, fearing a witch's grimoire among them; but she found the library was quite as decent and respectable as its owner, featuring such familiar works as the _Pilgrim's Progress_ , a Latin Vulgate Bible, and a great many small tomes on the lives of various saints, great and small.

Reading being a more enjoyable pastime than embroidery, they sat together, gray and brown heads bent, the lady listening as the girl read aloud, only pausing when corrected on the pronunciation of a word.

"You do read excellently for your short tutelage," said Lady Organa one evening, three weeks since Rey's return. "I confess I do not know what possessed the Creature to teach you so."

"He said he could not believe anyone as intelligent as I had not been taught anything beyond the letters of my own name," Rey told her, half-smiling at the memory.

"Well, he was correct to say so, on that account," Lady Organa said, and stood up. Rey stood as well. "I think I shall retire early tonight. Thank you for the reading, mistress."

Rey watched her go, feeling sad for the poor lady, and sat back down in front of the fire, cracking open her book again to read by herself. It was eight-thirty on the dot, and she kept looking at the little chest on the sideboard, the one with the symbols carved on the lid, inside which she knew was her mirror.

 _It's mine,_ a little voice deep in her heart insisted. _He gave it to me._

Without really knowing what she intended to do, she closed the book, listened to any footfalls—there were none, Finn and Poe had not returned yet and would not for some time—and went to the little casket, looking down with some trepidation at the lid.

Greek letters were scattered across the wood, along with several marks she knew to be mathematical in nature—she recognized them from her adventures in the Creature's library, and he had had several of Homer's works, and a few tomes on accounting. None of the marks held any occult meaning whatsoever, and she realized that Lady Organa must have put the carvings there herself, to frighten off simple folk who could not read and did not know that the letters and numbers were benign in nature.

 _I'm a fool to be afraid,_ she told herself, and spread her hands over the lid, feeling nothing but cool wood. Quickly, she lifted it, and snatched out the mirror, still as beautiful as the day the Creature had given it to her. _I won't ask. I'll only look at the back. I won't…I won't…_

Rey couldn't help it. The temptation was too great. She turned it so that she could see her own frightened face in the round mirror on the other side. "Show me the Creature, please," she whispered, clutching it tight, and the shining surface rippled and changed. Rey did not drop it, but held fast as the image therein resolved, and showed her, as if it was a painting more real than life itself, snowdrifts.

She peered closer. Not all snowdrifts, after all—it was the garden, the rose garden with the fountain all frozen and twisted, and the snow laying thick on the dead and leafless vines, the hedges all choked in ice, and on the ground, curled up across the bottom lip of the fountain, was a shapeless, black thing of feathers and fur that barely breathed, clawed hands limp and lifeless on the frozen ground.

Horror leaped into her throat. "He's dying," she said aloud, and clapped a hand to her mouth. Dying, alone and in the cold and in pain; and she here, warm and safe and wearing all the riches he had given her. _Oh, how could I have been so selfish!_ She flung the mirror back into the box—let it stay there, since it had served her all it could. She left the box open. Let Lady Organa see it. Rey did not care.

She raced out, heart pounding, and looked at the clock on the wall. A quarter till nine, and the mask would come off at ten, and perhaps never again, whether he died truly or was changed forevermore—and even if she could do nothing at all, if she could only sit with him and make herself known while the man died and the witless beast was born, even if she was torn asunder by a ravening thing one instant later, it would have been worth it. 

Rey ran to her room and changed into her good woolen riding habit, the green one with the high collar and good thick coat, and sturdy boots and her gloves. Twisting her hair back into a knot, she strode out to the stair and descended, wrapping a heavy muffler about her face. "Saddle Beauty at once," she ordered the startled groom, who obeyed and scurried out the door to the courtyard as she tied her good gray cloak about her shoulders. It was heavy and warm, and she felt very small within it.

"Why, what is this?" asked a startled voice from the landing, and Rey looked up to see the Lady Organa, in her night-clothes and robe, her long pewter-dark hair braided and falling to her waist.

"I am going to him," she said firmly. "To die, most likely; but still I am going, and neither you nor any wizard or priest that ever lived can stop me, not even the archangel Gabriel, should he appear with a flaming sword to bar my way." She yanked on her other glove and looked up. "I—I wish that you should pray for me, my lady."

Lady Organa descended, clutching something in her hand. "Pray for you?" she echoed, taken aback, as she reached the bottom of the stair.

"I fear my soul is in mortal peril," said Rey, tears on her cheeks. "For I do love him, a thing made of devilry as he may be, a creature of sin and suffering, as he called himself once—but still I love him, and so I will go!"

"Take this," said the Lady, and pressed into her hand a rosary carved of some deep red, cool stone. "Go, and may you be a balm to him, whoever and whatever he may be, and I will pray for your soul, child, until I know your fate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS ART FOR MY FIC AND I AM ASCENDING HONESTLY LOOK AT THIS??!!?!? tHANK you picarito
> 
> https://twitter.com/queso_en/status/1038704546342752257
> 
> anyways I hope you all ENJOY this and ooohh whats going to happen next who KNOWS


	11. In Which Something Dies and Something Else is Born

Beauty, once saddled and bridled, flew like the wind through the falling snow, her hooves clattering softly over the snow-muffled streets. Rey clung to her back and urged her faster, tears freezing on her cheeks in the biting wind.

They passed the great gates of the city and went out to the fields, all frozen and bare, lights from the distant farmer's homes gleaming in the dark. Rey ignored their promise of warmth, and tried to think.

If he was out in the weather on such a night as this, he could only be trying to freeze himself to death. Certainly no illness would have brought him so far from the house, and no beastly madness could have taken him there—for animals, Rey knew quite well, were disinclined to seek the cold, especially in the winter. So then, she reasoned, he must have gone out of his own accord, as a man, and sought to die rather than become a wretched beast.

"Faster!" she gasped to the horse, and held fast to the saddle as they crossed the last bit of fields and entered the forest.

It was warmer beneath the trees, but dark as midnight, and Rey could see nothing. "Take me to the castle, come now," she pleaded with the horse, and Beauty stopped, shifted a little beneath Rey, then seemed to get her bearings and plunged off into the dark. Rey could only hold fast and pray as branches whipped at her face, scratching her skin. Her hair came loose beneath her woolen hat, and she barely noticed as the pin flew off into the blackness. She kept her seat as she had been taught, and kept her eyes open, watching for the gates.

After what seemed an eternity, Beauty emerged with Rey clinging to her back before the gates of iron Rey knew so well, but they were shut fast and covered in ice.

Rey looked up in despair. "Open!" she shouted. "I was mistress here once, please; you must open!"

The gates did not move, as solid and still as ice, and Rey dismounted and approached with her rosary clutched in her hands, brandishing it as a sword. "In the name of Mother Mary and all the saints, and our Blessed Lord, I command you to open," she said, her faith and her desperation absolute. Her breath smoked on the cold air. Something was stirring within her breast; not quite awake, not yet.

The gates creaked and swung wide, slowly, whether by power of prayer or something else she did not know or care; and she marched through, Beauty at her shoulder. "Come now," she told the horse. "We're nearly there, and then you can rest." Far ahead, by the blurred white shape of the fountain, Rey could make out a huddled black form, and broke into a run, hampered by the long woolen skirts; the horse all but forgotten, making her way to the familiar stables.

She finally reached the fountain, a terrible pain in her side and her hat lost for good, and pressed her gloved hand to her waist in an effort to catch her breath as she circled it and caught sight of him.

It was past ten, for the mask was on the ground, quite empty; and his face was turned up, sightless eyes, both those of a raven, staring at the sky. His face was engulfed by black feathers, all but his mouth was gone from view, and as the clouds parted and the moon showed his face, the color of them shifted from black to blue, green, purple; all iridescent like a rainbow. His breast did not move with any breath, and his form was quite still.

Rey froze in her steps. He was dead, dead already, or perhaps near death, and she had been too late. "Sir," she gasped, and fell to her knees beside him, not caring if she lived or died in the cold. "Please, can you hear me?" His lips were blue, but whether that was a trick of the moonlight or a sign of having frozen she did not know. "It's me," she said, and reached for his great paw, cradling it to her breast, sharp claws and all. The pads there were cold as ice, cold enough to feel through her gloves. "It's me, it's Rey." She wiped a cold tear from her cheek and clutched his paw tightly. "Please, God; let him not have died alone."

He stirred, his eyes fixing on her. A deep, horrid sound like a strangled cat emerged from his throat, and even then she did not start away. He made the noise again, and shuddered, as if fighting a desperate battle, then said only, "Rey."

"You're not dead," she said, and began to weep in relief, tears dropping onto his face and lips, glittering like diamonds. "Oh, thank God; you are not dead."

"You came back," he said, struggling to speak clearly, the clawed thing in her hands convulsing. "You c—ca—"

"I promised you I wouldn't let you be alone," she sobbed. "I promised."

"Came back," he said again. "But why?"

" _'Love brought me hence, who prompts my speech_ ,'" Rey said through her tears, and pressed her hand to his cold and feathered cheek. "Don't let it take you," she begged. "You must fight it."

His eyes found hers, and a smile spread across the blue lips, exposing the fanged teeth. " _'So thy command delights me, that to obey—if it were done already, would seem l-late_ —'" He convulsed again, his back wrenched. "You must— _go_ , I may not die before the beast takes hold—I cannot hold the change back for long. I am being torn asunder in my very soul."

"I'm staying until you die, or I do," she told him, and clutched the rosary tight in her left hand. "And I am not afraid to die. Here, you must stay warm." All thought of propriety gone, she opened the great cloak and crawled within, pressing herself close along his half-frozen body and spreading her own cloak above them both. She pressed her ear to the thick black fur of his chest, and heard the beat of his heart, slow and faint.

"Lady, no," begged the Creature. "You must go. Leave me, before it is too late." She looked up and saw tears on his cheeks, freezing like diamonds in the feathers there. "I will not have you die with me." But his great claws crept up toward her, one upon her waist and the other spread across her back, and he wept as he held her close to his heart.

Rey looked down at the cold lips, and back into his crow's eyes, wet with tears, and her heart felt as if it would burst. "I love you most dearly, sir; and I will not be parted from you again," she whispered, as soft as the falling snow, and leaned down, pressing her own cold-chapped lips to his still-blue, half-frozen ones.

A great many things happened at once as she pulled away. The Creature let out a cry, more human than anything she had heard before, and a blinding white light shot from his eyes and mouth like lightning, sending her flying away, back against the benches to shield her eyes from the piercing glare.

Below her, the ground shook, and she let out a cry of terror, clasping the bench in her arms and thinking Doomsday had come at last—but no! The Creature was all aglow, the outline of him, suspended at chest-height above the ground, surrounded by a golden, shining air that glittered and moved like the summer sun through pollen-heavy forests. She could make out his limbs, shortening and twisting back into place, the feathers falling like rain from his skin, the heavy fur shedding all at once, and gasped in astonishment as the light lowered him back to the ground and began to fade, leaving them alone in the dark, lit only by moonlight.

She edged close, trying to make sense of what she had seen, toward the man lying on his face and covered by the Creature's ragtag cloak. "Sir?" she ventured, her heart pounding in mingled terror and curiosity.

He shook himself, the dark hair moving from side to side against the snow, and got to all fours, facing away from her. "A moment," he said, and she knew the voice—the voice of the man behind the mask. Smooth, low, deep and even as an untroubled sea—and unencumbered by the voice of any beast or bird or mask. His right leg inched forward, bit by bit, and he got himself up, bracing his arms on the fountain; then the other leg followed, and he was standing straight and tall. Slowly, he turned to face Rey.

Rey stepped forward almost automatically, but caught herself. He was _beautiful_ , like some old master's work. His face was long and well-formed with high cheekbones and a high brow, his nose strong and slightly crooked at the top, his mouth wide and the lips generous, the chin smooth and just imperfect enough to be endearing. His eyes…she looked at his eyes, slightly slanted, dark, under low expressive brows that were lifted with apprehension as he looked at her. She knew those eyes well, even out of their usual setting of torn flesh and blood.

"Why, it's _you_ ," she said, shocked. "And you—you are a  _man_ again."

"I believe you are correct, lady, for there is no other man I might be," he said, and staggered slightly, holding himself up with a large pale hand that darted out of his cloak. "Forgive me—I'm having some trouble—"

She quickly stepped to him and untied her cloak, quickly beating the snow from it. "Here, put this about you instead," she said. "That thing smells like the grave."

He untied the ragged black monstrosity and let it fall, and Rey was immediately obliged to avert her eyes, for he had gone naked beneath it to die and naked he had returned. She flushed, and the heat could have warmed them both for a week. "We should, erm," she stammered, "f-find you some clothes, perhaps, sir?"

"What—oh," he said, clutching the gray cloak about him as he felt the cold bite into his skin. "Yes." His eyes darted to her, and down at the ground. He took a few steps sideways and collapsed to his knees, shaking, in the snow, and Rey rushed to him, a hand across his back.

"Steady, there," she said, not knowing exactly what to do, or say, or even think. "It's all right."

"I would wager you have no earthly idea what it feels like to have bare skin again, or have your joints bent into the wrong—right—" He cut himself off. "I am very sorry, my lady. I am going to be sick." And he was, noisily and copiously, into the frozen hedges, while Rey helplessly patted his cloak-swathed back and wished some good fairy might appear and tell them exactly what on earth had happened.

When he was steady again, the man drew himself up and caught sight of the mask, discarded on its face in the snow. "One last thing," he said, and picked the thing up, regarding it with a curiously blank face, then abruptly smashed it into the stone wall of the fountain, over and over, until it was nothing but broken twists of metal and curling black smoke, noisome and oily-looking.

Rey wrinkled her nose and crossed herself to be safe as the man looked down at his bleeding knuckles. She thought he must possess an inordinate amount of strength to be able to break heavy metal against stone like that, but put the thought out of her mind as he came to her, limping slightly.

"I do humbly beg your assistance," he said, clutching the cloak about his body, "for my legs are as wobbly as a newborn foal's, and I am half-dead with cold."

"It's not far," she told him, and wrapped her left arm about his wide back. "Lean on me, and we shall get there just as fast."


	12. In Which A Hot Meal and Bath Are Had By Both Parties

The interior of the house was ablaze with light and full of living, breathing people when they got in through the service entrance (the front doors were hopelessly snowed in) and at the sight of them, the kitchen exploded into a great hubbub of noise.

The broad cook and her various and sundry kitchen-maids, all capable and hardy girls with enormous forearms from baking bread, immediately set a bath to heat for the master of the house in an enormous copper tub and called down the chamber-maids to assist Rey in undressing as much as she would, putting a thick quilt about her shoulders, and setting a warming-box under her feet. They set a tea and the master sat, wrapped in blankets, devouring the food with both hands like a starving animal and much overwhelmed by the sensations surrounding him.

"You mustn't hold his manners against him, m'lady," said one of the chamber-maids aside to Rey as she helped her unwind her muffler and take off her heavy coat. "He's been a beast for so long, he can't help it, no matter how hard he tries."

"I don't blame him a bit," Rey assured her. The girl smiled and set the muffler on a chair. Something about the way she moved the cloth seemed familiar, and Rey realized at once that this was her maid, the one who had fled at the mention of the King. "Oh, you're my maid! One for yes, two for no," she exclaimed, and the girl looked delighted.

"Yes, ma'am! Terna's my name. And I'm sure I'll be begging your pardon for not answering the last one, as the spell wouldn't let me."

"But—was it true, then?" Rey took her hands, warm and firm and blessedly visible. "Did he—"

"Oh, yes." Terna sat and held her hands tight. "He stole him away from his mother nearly fifteen years ago as surety against her rising against him and taking back the throne. Tried to enchant him to do his will, but he's a prince, you see, with a powerful strong magic in him, and when he began to fight back, refused to do as the King ordered, the King became angry and said he had no more wit or reason than a beast, so he would live a tormented life, masked from all who knew him, attended by people he could not speak to or see, and slowly change into a monstrous creature, and so we have lived here for nigh on eleven years—why, my lady, whatever is the matter?"

Rey slowly loosened her death-grip on the girl's hands. "Well, nothing—it's only—I know his mother. Or I think I might. Lady Organa?"

The room fell silent at the mention of the name, and the man stared at Rey, his eyes wide and shining in the light from the fire. "Lady Organa," he said, as if testing it out. "My mother. Yes. My father—my father was—" He paused. "Captain Han Solo."

"He's dead, I'm afraid," said Rey, half-reeling from this revelation.

"I know. I'm the one who killed him," he said grimly, and lifted his soup bowl, draining it all in one gulp.

Shocked, Rey turned to the maid, who nodded in grief. "Killed him under the spells of the King, as far as we can make out. Years ago."

"I'm sorry," said Rey. The ride through the frozen woods and the subsequent series of shocks had done their worst, and she felt quite lightheaded. "I think—I'm fainting."

There was a commotion, and Terna's face was replaced by the stricken, white visage belonging to the master of the house, and that was the last thing Rey knew for a bit.

~

"No, I have her," said the master, catching her from falling to the ground and cradling the face of the young woman in his hand as the servants all fluttered about in a dither. "She's only fainted from the shock." He lifted her up with ease, but his hands were trembling.

"The bath is ready, my lord," said a valet.

"Ah, yes," said the master of the house, but did not move from his position, holding the girl gently and looking down at her. After a moment, he seemed to shake himself out of his trance. "I—Terna, will you—"

"Oh, yes, m'lord," said Terna, and carefully supported the half-conscious Rey while the master let his fingers linger a bit too long on the curve of her cheek, then turned away quickly, leaving Rey to the maids, the hand that had touched her skin clenched into a fist at his side as if the contact had burned him.

They tucked her up in a corner of the kitchen with hot tea and brandy and enough food to bolster a small army, and Terna sat with her, fanning her face, while the master's valet and a few grooms divested him of his wrappings and got him into the bath.

Rey, half awake, dimly caught a glimpse of pale, freckled skin and deeply built muscle beneath as the man lowered himself into the steaming water. "Ah," she said, and came quite awake in consternation. "Goodness."

"Oh, I do apologize. It's hard to remember what isn't proper and what is after so long," Terna said. "For both us and him, I mean. I think we tried to hold on longer than he did."

"Terna—I keep forgetting to ask, but what is his name?" Rey gulped down her brandy and tea, feeling the warmth spread nicely. "He had forgotten it when I asked."

"Oh," said Terna, and wrinkled her nose. "You know, I can't remember a bit myself. We just called him the master of the house for so long amongst ourselves. He didn't want to be called by his Christian name once the—once the fur started appearing."

"I will ask him later, perhaps," said Rey, and finished her meal while the master of the house doused himself in hot water and delicately sponged at his arms and shoulders mere feet away.

Finally, he had finished his bath and was assisted out on still-wobbling legs, a linen sheet wrapped about him, and set on a stool over by the fire to dry, his face turned away from the tub. "And now for her ladyship," said the broad cook, smiling, both big hands on her stout waist.

Rey paled at the thought of being naked as Eve in front of all these people; but then remembered that like as not most of them had seen her in various stages of undress, and that this was no different, really. "Coming," she said dutifully, and they helped her out of her sodden boots, her heavy riding gown, the blouse and all beneath until she was down to her shift and the gentlemen bowed and went to assist the master while the ladies helped her out of it, bustling and clucking so that she felt more like a piece of corn in a barnyard than a woman grown and having a bath in full view of other people.

The water was heavenly, soft as honey and scented with herbs. Still hot, steam curled off it, and she was screened slightly from view by a wall, but if she craned her neck and looked sideways until her eyes hurt she could still just see the smooth, pale curve of a back, hunched before the fire.

"We usually wash the crockery in this," said one of the cook's maids, smiling. "Works just as well for a person, I say."

"The lady didn't ask ye," said the cook sternly. "Ye've got some re-learning to do about how to speak to gentlefolk—as we all do, begging yer pardon," she said to Rey.

"I'm not gentlefolk, so I don't mind," said Rey, and sighed as hot water washed through her hair. "Oh, thank you."

"Well, ye do speak like one, and I'm of the opinion any man or woman might be noble, if they wash they hair and keep they prayers and behave nicely, and any man or woman might be worse than a beggar, even if they was born with all the gold in the world and take airs."

The cook scrubbed Rey's back until it was pink and hot as a lobster while the other maid scrubbed her hair, and after she was thoroughly washed and rinsed they let her sit and soak, the heat thawing out her cold feet and hands…

Rey jerked to wakefulness, quite startled out of her nap in the tub, and found that she was quite alone in the kitchen, except for the master of the house, who was rounding the corner draped in linen like some Grecian statue, likely in search of more food. He didn't see her, and she shrank down quietly in the warm water.

The movement rippled in the tub, and he paused and glanced over, then blinked in shock. "Oh—I—Mistress," he managed, frozen to the spot. "I didn't see—that is, that is to say—"

Rey brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms about them, hiding herself as well as she could. "I—" Her tongue felt heavy, and something stirred deep inside her, strangely familiar but in a way she could not place; something that wanted dreadfully to see and be seen, something that wanted to kiss those wide lips again.

He took a step forward, as if not knowing he was doing so, a look of longing on his face—then drew back, a hand passing over his eyes. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I—I will go."

"No, don't," she begged, and before she knew what she was doing she had stood up, her hair spreading in wet locks across her shoulders, water trickling down her breasts and into the dark thatch of hair between her thighs. "I don't—I don't want you to go," she managed, crimson to the ears. _This is a sin. It is a sin, and yet I am doing it and I do not care. Oh God, forgive me._

He lurched back as if stabbed through the heart, his mouth slightly open, and one large hand moved unobtrusively to shield the juncture of his thighs. "I don't want to go either," he said very softly, nearly a growl; and the he'd taken one step, then another, and she was stepping from the tub and he was looking at her, up close, but not touching her.

"Brave girl," he said softly, and searched her eyes with a long look. "I would—I would hold you in my arms and embrace you, but I fear I am in no fit condition to do so. The heat of the water has—the touch—the simplest touch on my skin is too much for me to bear at present, and rouses me to—to various conditions which I should not like to explain in great detail to a lady."

"I know what a man's body does," said Rey, flushed. "I lived on the streets, for heaven's sake."

"Then you know one of such conditions of which I speak," he said, quite pink in the face.

She tilted her head up to look at him. He was very tall, taller than her by nearly a foot. "Might I touch your hand like I used to?" she asked.

"You might," he said gently, after considering a bit, and extended his left hand to her. The large fingers trembled slightly, and she slid her own right hand out, lightly laying her fingers alongside his. His skin was warm to the touch, and she suddenly felt shy of him, shy of this man who had taken the place of the fearsome creature that had come to her hand, the thing she used to pat and care for.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, ashamed of her behavior all at once, and dropped her hand, catching up the sheet that had been laid ready for her and swathing herself in it. "Please—don't mind me, I don't know what's come over me."

He hesitated, glancing down at her cocooned form, only her head peeping out. His hand was still extended, and he moved it slightly, clenched his fingers and opened them again. "I should like—" he said haltingly, "very much—to kiss you again, if you would...if you are amiable."

Rey blinked. "Well, if you're sure it won't be too much—"

"I think," he said, and stepped close, looking down at her. Quickly, he bent and pressed his mouth to hers, a chaste little press that shouldn't have made her heart beat quickly. "Yes, it's bearable," he said softly, inches from her face.

"Then you might do it again," she whispered.

He considered this, and bent to his task a second time, lingering longer on her lips, and her mouth parted beneath his, her tongue slipping across his mouth, and he made a dreadful sound deep in his throat and both his hands pressed to her back. Rey felt them, huge and firm, spread across her bare back, and thrilled to feel the strength within them as he pulled her close so that only the linen was between them. His teeth closed lightly, briefly, on her bottom lip.

"Ah, God," he moaned, and broke the kiss, and she felt him trembling against her, and looked up to see a fine sweat on his brow. " _That_ I cannot bear."

"I don't suppose you have a priest to hand?" she asked, dizzy from the touch.

He looked at her, startled, and released her. "I do not. Why do you ask?"

"I wish—" She bit her lip. "I wish to confess my sins. I should not have—this is—"

He took her chin in his big hand and looked at her intently. "Ah. And here I was thinking you wanted a priest for a different sort of reason, and I was all of an intent to send to Corburg for one at once," he said.

"What reason would that be?" she asked, bewildered.

"The matrimonial sort," he said, and let his hand fall. "Forgive my presumption, lady. It is very late, and we are both tired, and this is a conversation better saved for the light of day. Good evening."

Rey's mouth fell open in shock. _Matrimonial_?

But he was taking his leave already, gathering a tray of food and walking away, and she was left to stare at his back while the water ran cold from the ends of her hair.


	13. In Which a Wedding Takes Place and Several Things are Revealed

The next morning dawned pale and cold, all the snow having stopped its fall in the night, and the grounds of the place lay blanketed with glittering white.

Rey, who had been put to bed in her old room, slipped on a house robe and her slippers before saying good morning to Terna and heading down to the breakfast room.

The master of the house was sitting at table, dressed in a long robe and looking as if he'd had a sleepless night, his dark hair tied back in a rather straggly queue, which, all pulled back, exposed his large ears, which exactly fit the description he had given her, and indeed stuck out monstrously. "Good morning, lady," he said quickly, standing up as she entered. His movements still seemed strangely awkward, and he held the robe closed with one large hand.

"Good morning." She sat in the chair pulled out for her and took an offered cup of hot chocolate from the valet, sipping at the stuff. "You don't look as if you slept well, sir."

"I did not," he said, and sat back down, shoving an entire piece of toast into his mouth at once. "I fear I suffered from a peculiar belief that if I fell asleep, I would wake a creature again, and this would all be but a dream; so I stayed awake until the sun rose."

Rey nibbled at her toast, spread with good butter and jam. "Oh. I'm sorry," she said, slightly discomfited at the fact that she had slept like the dead. "Are you—acclimating otherwise?"

"Somewhat," he said, drinking his own cup of chocolate. "My skin still feels as new and raw as a babe's, and I must become accustomed to walking on two legs again—but it is easier, this morning. Thank you for asking, mistress." He leaned forward to catch up the toast-tray, and as the wrapper parted in front she saw that beneath it he was naked, his skin evidently still too tender to bear the touch of any shirt.

"I wished to continue our—our conversation from last night—or early morning, whichever it was," she said with some trepidation, averting her eyes quickly from his bare chest.

"Mmm," he said, eyeing her over the toast. "Conversation, or… _conversation_?"

Rey blushed in spite of herself. "The—you mentioned—a priest," she said, quite helpless. "I wished to enquire whether you might—send for one after all."

He regarded her quite carefully, and slowly set down his cup. "And this—priest," he said. "Would he be for the purposes of Holy Confession, or for holy matrimony?"

"Both, sir, if it please you," said Rey, sure she was scarlet all the way to her ears.

The master went quite still, staring at her as if he was not sure she was real. " _Both_?" he asked after a moment, his voice quite hoarse. Rey shoved a buttered scone into her mouth so she didn't have to reply, and nearly choked, washing it down with more chocolate and a hot cup of tea as he sat, shocked into utter stillness at the end of the table. He was so quiet for so long that she thought for a horrible moment perhaps she had gotten his intentions wrong after all, and the words came spilling out of her like a fountain.

"If that's—what you meant, I mean, last night; you said presumption on your part and I thought that you were asking me—if you _weren't_ I do apologize for _my_ presumption—"

He jerked his chair back, making her jump, and limped to her seat, falling to his knees at her lap. "It is," he said, quite overcome with emotion. "It _is_ —what I meant, I mean, and if you did me such an honor I would be the happiest man alive."

Rey reached for his hands and kissed them, and he shivered at her touch. "Then—we must go and fetch a priest," she said.

"Your wish is, as ever, my command," he said, and let his lips trace her fingers before standing and limping back to his chair. "It came to me last night that perhaps this is a wild fancy of mine brought on by the restoration of my true form—but if it is, then by God, I shall indulge it, and as you are not opposed—"

"Not at all," Rey interjected, smiling.

"Then we shall be wed, and soon," he said, and offered her a smile, lifting his glass in salute.

~

The priest, a timid, grubby, smooth-faced man called Father John who arrived late that evening escorted by the valet, was clearly unaccustomed to such splendor as awaited him behind the doors of the castle. He looked about fearfully and said many a Paternoster and an Ave Maria, crossing himself over his old homespun cassock at every turn at such a display of wealth, which not even Mother Church held in Corburg, he told Rey.

"This must be some insidious gain; and the master of the house a slave to Mammon," he said, not for the first time as Rey stood behind her screen, being helped into her wedding gown by Terna.

"Perhaps some was insidiously gained," said Rey, smoothing down her bodice, "but as the mistress of the house I intend to give much to the poor and do good works. Does that satisfy you, Father?"

Father John huffed, but nodded. "Indeed, inasmuch as I can be. Now, shall you make your confession?"

"Yes," said Rey, and stepped out, fully dressed in the nicest gown they could find, a grey satin robe with a white petticoat all embroidered with silver thread, froths of white lace at the sleeves. "Terna, you may go," she told her maid, who curtseyed and hurried out the door. She came forward and knelt, clutching Lady Organa's rosary as she settled in a billowing heap of grey satin at the priest's feet. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. My last confession was…" she tried to recall, but couldn't quite. "…five…months ago?"

Father John nodded, that being not out of the ordinary. "And as we do confess our sins, our Lord forgives us. Go on, child."

Rey steeled herself and looked at the floor. "I uncovered my nakedness before a man, Father, with—with the intent of fornication, and I did not care when I did it that it was a sin." She refused to look up at the priest as she continued. "I found myself in the company of sorcerers and said nothing to any priest. I stole back a thing that had been taken from me, when I was not supposed to. I succumbed to temptation two—no, _three_ times. I was selfish and left a pitiful and lonely man to suffer alone while he sent me away. And—and I loved that man most ardently, even though he said he was a creature of sin not fit to bless our food at table. And—" she cast about for more. "Oh, I lost my temper with my horse many a time in the field as I rode. I keep placing books page-down to hold my place even though I know it weakens the binding on the spine, I can't remember to get a proper mark—and—and I think that's all," she finished lamely, and stole a glance up at the priest.

He was quite impassive. "Well," he said, and cleared his throat. "Am I to understand that you did not commit the sin of fornication?"

"I did not, Father," she said firmly.

"And that the man you intended to sin with is the man I shall wed you to within the hour?" His eyes were twinkling, and Rey felt more at ease, and also more than a little embarrassed.

"Yes, Father," she said.

"Well, than no true harm was done… though to look upon a woman with such intent is just as bad as the sin itself, says our Lord," he mused. "We might assume it works both ways, then. And that…bit about sorcerers?"

"Oh, yes," said Rey. "But I have been told that there are more things in heaven and earth and all the realms within than are dreamt of in the minds of simple priests—I beg your pardon," she amended hastily.

He laughed. "Well, I am not quite as simple as some. Your penance for these and all your sins are to say fifty Ave Marias, and I shall go and hear the confession of the master of this house, which I have no doubt shall peel the skin from my very ears; and then you shall be quickly wed."

Rey tried not to laugh and crossed herself. "Thank you, Father," she said, and got up as he left, then settled herself on the hearth-rug and started in with her first Ave.

~

The priest emerged from the master's bedchamber nearly an hour later, looking quite cross-eyed and borne on a tide of good brandy, the master of the house in tow with his large ears gone scarlet.

Rey was already waiting in the music room, the airiest place in the house, attended by nearly all the staff, when they entered.

"Ah," said Father John, and pushed his lordship toward Rey. "You stand just there, and I shall have this done in an instant." He pulled a tattered prayer book from his sleeve and muttered to himself, looking for the right place as Rey took the master's hand and held it tight.

He looked very fine, in a velvet suit trimmed with braid and breeches and hose, but seemed very uncomfortable indeed at the touch of the clothing on his skin, and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hand clutched hers quite firmly, and she found some solace in the display of impatience.

"Hmph," said Father John, and peered at the passage. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the eyes of God and man—"

"Could you directly proceed to the vows?" asked the master, quite on edge. He tugged at his jabot and the snowy fall of lace there.

"No liturgy?" asked Father John, squinting.

"No," said the master through his teeth.

"And no homily?" Father John looked scandalized, even drunk.

"Just the vows, please," said Rey.

"The vows, the vows," mumbled the priest, shaking his head and running his finger through the book as he turned many pages. "Ah, here we are. Do you, ah, Benjamin Solo, take this woman to be thy lawfully wedded w—"

"I do," he said very quickly, and Rey blinked in some astonishment at the mention of his given name.

"Good, good." Father John squinted at Rey and hiccupped. "Do pardon me. Much brandy was necessary to hear _this_ one's confession." He glared balefully at Benjamin Solo, as if it was entirely his fault.

"Do you take," prompted Rey helpfully.

"Ah. D'you, Rey—have you got no surname?" he added, as an afterthought.

"Of course I don't," she said indignantly.

"Right, quite right. Beggar girl, of course." Father John peered at the page again. "Do you, Rey-with-no-surname, take Benjamin Solo to be your awfully—lawfully—wedded husband?"

"Yes, I do," she said.

"No rings," said Father John, with some judgement. "Hmph, well can't be helped." He looked upward, as if commending his soul to God. "I now pronounsh—pronounch—pronounce you man and wife."

Master Solo bent and pressed a kiss to Rey's lips, and this was no gentle and chaste peck, but a ravenous and open thing that filled her with hot desire and no small amount of terror.

He pulled away, and Rey blinked at the loss of contact, before seeing, to her great astonishment, Father John pull off his face. She screamed in horror along with the rest of the servants, and in the next instant realized it had not been his face at all, but some glamour, revealing a kindly, bearded face and uncombed hair, like that of a hermit. His beard was brown, mingled with white streaks at the chin, and his eyes were warm and clear.

Benjamin had gone quite still and shocked, and uttered, "Uncle _Luke_?"

"Indeed," he said, and bowed to Rey. "My lady. I think you know me."

She _had_ seen this face. In a dream, in another place, something was familiar to her about the man. "I can't think of where," she said, stunned, but immediately realized that she had seen those same brown eyes in another face—"Why, you must be Lady Organa's brother! She mentioned you once to me."

"I am," he said. "Trapped for many a year in the guise of a priest and unable to fight him, no thanks to the King and his work." He stretched out his hands and a fiery shower of sparks fell from his palm, all colors, vanishing before they hit the floor. "Ah, that feels much better."

Benjamin's mouth was still moving in consternation. "I gave you _confession_!" he protested.

"And a very nicely done confession it was, nephew," said Luke with a wink to Rey, who blushed deeply. "With a great many details I should rather not have heard. Well, the spell was broken for _you_ when a maid of pure heart and fairy blood professed her love and pledged with a kiss, and the spell was broken for _me_ when my nephew, who I lost to the King's snares of misery by my pride and arrogance, found happiness again. Here you stand a free man, here I stand a humble one: so I think this week has held a great many surprises for all of us, and I shall ride with haste to the house of my sister and tell her of the good news."

"But sir, did you say fairy blood?" asked Rey in astonishment. "But I'm not—"

"But you are," Luke said. "A very long story I have no time to tell; but rest assured that your mother was a fairy and your father was a mortal man, and after they were killed you were left for your own safety in the most beggarly of places for your own protection. How else do you think you learned so quickly all the things you did between the streets and the castle? Why do you think the gates opened at your command? You hold in yourself that same power I do, and he does—" he pointed to Benjamin—"and my sister. You might even learn in time to be a great magician yourself, mark my words. But for now, time is of the utmost importance, and I go!"

And with that, he was striding out of the music room, and turned to smile at them and bow; then turned about in a great flash of golden light, whereupon he vanished at once as if he was never there.

All of them stood quite shocked and still, and then Benjamin Solo slipped his hand into Rey's.

"You will please excuse us," he said, sounding half-stifled, to the stunned household. "My wife and I are going upstairs to retire. Good evening."


	14. In Which A Marriage Is Inelegantly Consummated

Rey followed Benjamin up the stairs to the master's bedroom, her heart thumping away beneath her corset. He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside, blinking in the firelight, which lit the bedroom in a warm, dim glow. Outside, the windows showed a winter sunset of pale lilac and pink, and the snow had begun to fall again.

"You'll forgive me for undressing, I hope," he said apologetically, and she turned to see Benjamin already half out of his waistcoat, the jabot loose around his throat. "The thing feels like sandpaper."

"The—the jabot?" she ventured.

"No, the shirt," he said, and yanked both it and the waistcoat off, dropping it to the floor and sighing in relief. "Well; frankly, all of it." She flushed and looked away out of habit, then remembered that this was now her husband and that she could look all she desired, and gave him a frank, quick appraisal as he bent to take off his shoes.

Skin so white hers looked tawny beside it, smattered with freckles like a starry night. He was solidly built, broad in the shoulder and thick with muscle from neck to waist, and she thought he might easily be able to lift the heavy oak table in one hand. He stood, and she let her eyes travel down his front, the flat planes of hard muscle over his middle.

Rey wasn't entirely ignorant of matrimonial matters. She'd had several odd jobs as a child and an older girl, including working as a maid in a brothel, and she knew very well what the ladies there sold and what the men bought, and all the variations imaginable thereof, from the bawdy talk at the breakfast table. But she had never truly seen a naked man, aside from brief flashes from behind and the side; and certainly not one so closely.

"What was your penance for Confession?" she asked quickly, and his hands stilled as he stripped off his stockings.

"Ah. Seventy-five Ave Marias and twenty Paternosters." His ears went quite pink, as did the end of his nose. "I suppose my uncle wanted some revenge for…having to hear about all my sins." He cast aside the stockings and stood up.

"Oh, I only got fifty Aves," Rey said, fighting a smile at the thought of poor old Uncle Luke.

He chuckled and moved, divesting himself of his breeches, and she quickly whirled about in sudden embarrassment, her heart pounding and her face quite suffused with heat. "The robe," she gasped, too discomfited to explain, and she heard the rustle of silk and knew he had put it on. Cautiously, she sneaked a peek over his shoulder, and ensured he was decently clothed before turning to face him.

He eyed her with some caution. "Are you all right, lady?" he asked.

"Not exactly," she said. "Just—nervous, I expect."

"Ah," he said, and looked at her gown. "Might I assist you in the—" he gestured at her generally, up and down— "the, erm, removal of your dress? I suppose you don't mean to sleep in it." Rey stiffened slightly, and he held both his hands out to her with a small smile. "I swear I shall not leap upon you all at once. You have my word on that."

She plucked at the front laces, feeling both as though she might suffocate and as if the stays and layers of stiff silk were a form of armor. "Yes, then, if you please," she whispered, and he stepped forward and carefully began to unlace her, the gown loosening and slipping off her shoulders in a heap of rustling fabric. "You might unlace the back stays," she said, and quickly turned her back to him, her heart thumping as his fingers pulled out the laces—but not quite from fear.

The stays dropped, and she reached down to loosen her petticoat and panniers, all of it falling, and there she was, in just her chemise and stockings, feeling almost more naked than she had been in the bath. She drew a breath and turned to face him, and he was gazing at her in mingled admiration and some nervousness of his own.

"Have you," she began, unsure of how to ask it. Clearly he'd never been married, but she wanted to know exactly what to expect, and was willing to risk insulting him by implying— "Have you ever, erm, done…this?"

He blinked as if startled out of a reverie, and looked at her. "I have not," he said. "Have you?"

"No," she said. "But I know—I mean, I know about it."

"Good. At least one of us should know what's done," he said, and looked at his hands. "I fear I might…do you harm. But I also fear I cannot bear this so soon...and yet I do desire it."

"Well, I suppose—we must just go on, and stop if it becomes too much, then. Would you—" Rey took a step toward him, and he eyed her nervously. "Would you tell me how you wish me to call you?"

"Oh," he said, and smiled. "I was baptized Benjamin, but my mother used to call me Ben. I suppose you might call me that, too."

"Ben," she said, testing it, and he gave her a queer look, then smiled.

"Yes, it suits your mouth well," he said softly, and stepped toward her. "As might many other things."

"Oh?" she asked, heart beginning to pound once again, looking up at him as he approached.

"Indeed." He bent and cupped her chin in his large hand, and she felt as if she might melt into the floor. "I think, lady, your mouth would suit a very long kiss."

She didn't answer, but stood on her toes and met his mouth with hers, pressing herself up against him, her hands carefully clinging to the robe and not his sensitive skin. He made a soft noise deep in his throat and clutched her about the back, his hands a searing heat through the thin linen of her shift, and his teeth again caught at her lip before he pulled away and looked at her, his warm eyes gone quite dark and liquid.

"Yes, it suits you," he whispered. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," she said, quite truthfully, and reached up. Her insides had seemed to turn to water, trembling and unquiet. Both hands crept up his bare chest, up to his throat, but he flinched away and caught at her hands with a little noise.

"Only—the robe, if it please you, lady."

"Yes, of course," she said, rather abashed, and took hold of the brocade, slipping it off his shoulders.

Ben gave a soft sound as the fabric fell to the floor in a heap and watched her face intently, almost fearfully. Rey looked him up and down, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He looked like a grand marble carving, a saint of some kind—although she thought saints usually had strategically placed shadows and linen wrappers where he had… something else entirely.

Rey set her chin, looking away, and swallowed. Ben gazed at her with those warm, dark eyes. She did not feel right, not yet; exposing herself to this man who was now her husband. "Might I keep my chemise on?" she asked.

"Keep whatever you like on, lady; only come to bed," he said gently, and held out a hand, trembling only a little; and she took it, her small fingers slipping into his large ones, and letting him lead her wherever he would.

They climbed up into his bed, an enormous four-poster with heavy curtains and fine sheets, and he kissed her again, and lay down beside her, both hands pressed against the sheets instead of her. "You must forgive me," he said softly, eyes closed as he caught his breath. "The feeling of—to be touched—"

Rey spread her hand out, only the pads of her fingers resting delicately on his bare chest, and he shivered, gooseflesh rising on his arms. "Like this?" she asked, and drew her fingertips down to his belly, the dark thatch of hair below his navel that led to—

"Holy _God_ ," gasped Ben, and his hips jerked upward as if pulled by a string before he caught her wrist and stopped her. "Please—I—I don't wish to—disgrace myself." He laughed a little, a flush on his cheeks. "Christ, but your hands feel like fire." He drew her caught hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. 

"Oh," said Rey, blushing, and took her hand back. "Well—I suppose we should, erm, get on with it."

"Now? Ah. One moment," he said, sounding a bit strange, and sat up, breathing slowly as he steeled himself. "All right. I'm—well, ready. Do you—is there—are you—"

Rey did not understand, and the realized he must be just as nervous as she was, and had no real idea what to do, especially in regards to the great mysteries of a woman's body. "I'm ready," she assured him; and she was, the warmth between her legs a welcome presence. "Here, you might feel it." Rey reached out and took his right hand, and drew it slowly between her legs, under the linen shift, pressing his warm fingers to curl under her and his palm to cup her mound and the soft dark hair there.

"It's…wet," he said in surprise, and moved to better reach her, kneading gently at her crux with thumb and fingers.

"Oh," said Rey, eyes half closed. " _Oh_."

"Am I hurting y—"

"No," she said quickly, "no, don't stop. I—" She reached down and pressed his fingers gently into her, and he gave a soft exclamation of surprise as his middle finger, then his index, breached her entrance, sinking into smooth wet flesh. "Back and forth, so," she panted, and he caught on quickly, his fingers working as the heel of his hand pressed and rubbed against her most delicate point, until she stiffened suddenly and muffled a cry, falling back on the bed.

"Are you hurt, lady?" he asked again, his hands stilling.

"No," said Rey, who was floating quite dreamily in a sea of pillows. "No, not at all." She smiled up at him. "You'll find the… way… a bit easier now, I think."

He crouched between her thighs, still in their stockings and garters, and eagerly fumbled for her under the shift, fingers parting swollen flesh and then she felt the pressure, the blunt thing just outside where his fingers had been.

"Ah, a moment," she said quickly, and sat up on her elbows, nearly knocking heads with him, and peered down at the object in question. Up close, it was quite a bit larger than she had thought, thick through the length. Very thick. "I don't think your…sword will fit my sheath," she said, glancing up at him with some apprehension.

"I think," said Ben, who was already sweating slightly at the sensation, trembling. "I think, if…" He reached down and parted her flesh with two fingers, and gently pressed himself just inside, working as gently as he could, and Rey felt herself stretch and open to him. Her hand found his and guided his fingers, and then he was in a little further.

"Oh, God," she gasped, eyes squeezed shut. He pushed just a little more, and she felt a strange little pang, but it didn't hurt; and then he was buried inside her, sheathed to the hilt, shivering and gasping against her cheek as he held himself in place between her legs.

"Oh, _God_ ," he echoed weakly.

"Is it too much to bear?" she asked, opening one eye, slightly breathless and hoping he would say no.

"I…I can bear it," he said, although he certainly didn't sound like he could; his voice was strained and his hands were shaking already. "What—what do I do now?"

Rey blinked and fought to not laugh at the question. "You, erm, move," she said, somewhat choked, and thumped at his backside with her stockinged heels to indicate.

"Oh," he said, flushed with heat or with embarrassment she did not know, and rolled his hips in a slow, experimental movement. "Oh, _God._ I—" He helplessly did it again, and again, and Rey clutched at his bare back for purchase as they both crashed backward onto the bed, Ben above and she below, and he thrust and heaved above her, gasping. "Holy _Christ_."

"You're crushing me," she panted, and he jerked away from her, holding himself up with his forearms pressed to the bed, bracketing her face. "Thank you."

"Rey," he moaned, and plunged in hard, and she yelped and scrabbled at his back without thinking, her blunted nails across his bare skin. He cried out in what could have been either agony or ecstasy, and bent his head, teeth grazing her neck, before pulling away fiercely with a shout of _God, no!_ and landing on his backside, both hands splayed out and clutching at the sheets while he panted wildly, every sinew in his body wound as tight as a cord.

Rey sat up, half-dazed, a throbbing and empty feeling between her legs and her hair all in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she managed to say, and saw seed smeared on his thighs and belly. "Ah," she said, and looked away, unsure of what to say or do.

Ben bent his head, shaking it like a stunned animal, trying vainly to catch his breath. His—Rey fought back a memory of a squealing girl behind a door in the brothel she had heard once, _oh, what a cock you have, sir!_ —well, the organ in question was smeared with a small amount of fresh blood, mingled with seed, and he blinked at it in surprise, then looked up at her. "You're hurt," he said, his eyes wide and frightened as he swung one knee about to shield himself from her view.

"No, I'm not," she insisted, and looked down, seeing some blood on her inner thigh. "You have only pinked me. I—it's to be expected, you know: I was a maid—are you all right?"

He shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. "I cannot bear it," he said thinly. "I—am sorry. Not—not the blood, I mean, I can bear that: but this—the sensation, the entire experience is entirely too much to endure at the moment for very long; and now I have disgraced myself indeed, and in front of you—my _wife_ —no less, fool that I was to think I could do it." He passed his hand over his eyes.

"Oh," said Rey in a very small voice. "Is there—is there anything I might do to—"

"No," Ben said gently. "I fear there is nothing you can do." He reached forward and laid his hand lightly on her knee. "I wanted—I wished that this might have been better for the two of us, and for that I am sorry."

"There is no apology needed," she said firmly, fighting the urge to take his hand. "I do not think ill of you for it. Perhaps—it shall become easier, over time."

"Yes, it shall," Ben said. "But not this night, I fear."

"Shall I sleep here with you? Or—I suppose you would rather sleep alone," said Rey, looking down.

"I wish you could share my bed tonight, in many more ways than one. But your new rooms have been all prepared and made ready," he told her kindly. "Go through the door there to the sitting room, and into the mistress's chamber. That is yours now, for you are mistress of the house truly, and all is yours."

"Oh," she said, surprised and pleased at the prospect of exploring her new quarters. "Thank you. I will go and see them, and I—I will see you in the morning, for breakfast?"

"You will," he said, and caught at her arm as she made to slip off the bed. "I—" His face worked for a moment, and he kissed her hard, that same hungry thing that made her want to clutch him tightly and never let go. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his brow pressed to hers for a moment, their hair caught up together: sloe-dark and gleaming warm brown. "I will make it right when I can, I swear to you, and I shall not subject you again to such—such an unsatisfactory—"

Rey caught his mouth with hers, both hands pressed lightly to his cheeks, fingertips brushing his temples and working into his hair. She only pulled away when he shuddered under her touch. "It's all right," she said softly. "I'll go now. Good night."

His eyes followed her every move hungrily as she slid off the bed and groped about for her shoes. "Take my robe," he told her as she pulled them both on. "You'll freeze. I'll have the maid collect your dress."

Rey slid on the heavy thing and inhaled the soft, masculine scent that seemed to permeate the silk. "Thank you," she said, and made for the door to the sitting room. "And—Ben?" she said, halting with her hand on the latch.

"Hmm?" he asked, turning his head.

"I—I did like it," she said, almost shyly: and before he could respond she was through the door in a whisk of brocade and linen, closing it gently behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie I was low key panicking even though sex scenes are like pretty par for the course for me, so I hope y'all ENJOY THIS and don't worry more is coming 100%. You can check out some of my sketches on twitter @urulokid !


	15. In Which a Great Battle Takes Place and Rey Discovers a Power of Previously Unknown Strength

The next day was cloudy and rather dull, as it had begun to snow again. Rey took her breakfast in the private sitting room with her new husband, who at long last had finally seemed to get some sleep, judging by his clear eyes and refreshed demeanor.

Her new rooms were very fine and large—all decorated in pale blue and gold and white, with a great four-poster bed all draped in curtains. The wardrobe held gowns even lovelier than her old ones, and a good many sensible house gowns for staying indoors that didn't require stays, which she appreciated immensely. She put on a comfortable one of these of fine gray silk and tied her hair up with a ribbon, and began to go about the kitchens, inquiring as to the health of all the servants, who seemed delighted that she showed any such interest at all and helped her plan out the meals for the next week. She had much to learn about the running and upkeep of such a large house, and the household was more than happy to teach her what must be done.

At lunch, she saw Benjamin again, and he had managed to dress at least halfway, his overly sensitive skin becoming more tolerable to touch, he said, with a good deal of cheer.

"I used to be able to smell you from five rooms over, and see in the dark like a cat; hear a rustle of movement from across the house, and taste the scent of my servants on the air," he elaborated between spoonfuls of soup. "Now I can neither hear, nor see, nor taste, nor smell by comparison; but every touch on my skin is magnified eightfold. It goes and comes, but lessens by the hour; as you see, now I have even managed stockings," and he ticked her ankle with his foot until she laughed.

She spent most of the day after lunch going over the household accounts with the steward, a thin little man with a long nose named Pierre, and found that all was in fine order, no debts incurred whatsoever in the last eleven years. Benjamin Solo apparently possessed a massive amount of wealth, and Rey was trying to decipher from whence exactly the funds had come when all of a sudden a great, booming knock resounded upon the front door, echoing all the way into the den where she sat with Pierre.

The steward turned as grey as gruel and faltered back in his seat. "Oh, saints preserve us," he said.

"Who could that be?" Rey asked, standing up.

"My lady—it is the King," he said faintly.

"The—" Rey's blood felt as cold as ice. "Oh, what do I _do_?"

"You must go and meet him," said Pierre. "Pray most heartily, lady, and keep your wits about you, for he will seek to deceive you: and be careful of his words. Now go: there is no sense in waiting."

As if in answer to his words, another great thudding boom resonated through the house. Rey clutched at the red rosary, which she had taken that morning as she dressed, and stood, feeling as if her legs were made of water.

 _I cannot go back, so I must go on._ She steeled her resolve and prayed silently as she made her way down the hall and to the great foyer, where the doorman, white as paper, was trembling with his hand on the latch. Benjamin was nowhere to be seen, although she knew he must have heard the knock—for even the poor souls in Hell might have heard such a noise.

"Go on, sir," she said kindly as she approached. "I will open the door to our visitor." She helped him away and told him to sit down in a chair, then put her own hand on the enormous thing and pulled it open, arms wide as she did so, the blowing wind and snow blasting her in the face.

Beyond the door stood an old man, his clothes whipping about, flanked by five others in red mail and plate and cloak—guards, perhaps? Valets? Rey did not know. "Well, come in out of the cold, quick," she said, beckoning.

They all filed in, snow melting on their clothes. The old man peered up and about, bright eyes peeping at Rey from beneath a fine hood of golden silk lined with white fur. He very much looked a wizard, she thought. He had no beard or hair, but wrinkly skin and a pair of bushy eyebrows. "Ah, the girl," he said, and his voice was keen and raspy. He seemed to carry with him a miasma, a strange shimmering cloud of something indefinable, and Rey thought that perhaps she could see the magic about him, taste it like the scent of rain.

"Are you the King?" she asked, certain of it as she had never been certain of anything before.

"I am," he said. "And you?"

"I am lady of this house, sir," she said politely, and curtseyed. "We were about to set the table for dinner; but I can order the maids to set six places."

"They do not eat," said the old man, and waved at his guard dismissively. Rey looked closer and saw that their faces were bound below the nose by red scarves, the flesh and eyes that showed quite gray and dead-looking. She shuddered. "Whereas I eat but little, as a bird, and so you shall not waste the china. Now, where is your lord husband?" He said _husband_ as if it was a bitter poison on his tongue.

"I do not know," she said. "I have been looking at the accounts all afternoon."

"Hm," he said, looking at her again. One of the guards stepped forward, and she shrank back instinctively. "No, get back. She speaks the truth, I see it. Well, lady, I have business to settle with him." He smiled, and it was not a kind smile; it was cruel and full of yellowed teeth. "He has cost me much, you see, and I do not intend to let it go unpunished."

Rey set her chin. "But he has fairly broken the spell you placed upon him."

"The spell was designed to be unbreakable," he snapped. "A maid of pure heart with _fairy blood_ —I suppose you are that maid—well, not a maid now, in any case, are you, my dear? I smell the blood still running."

Rey flushed. "My husband is not here," she reiterated firmly. "If you would do business with him, you must come back another time, I'm afraid."

"I do not need him present to punish him for what he has cost me," said the King, smiling, and she did not like that smile at all, not one bit. "I know you have been consorting with the Lady Organa, child. Did she tell you she is the rightful Queen, and I a usurper? It could not be further from the truth."

"That is a lie," said Rey stolidly, but swallowed.

"I took that boy to protect him," wheedled the King. "He was rebellious and torn and did not know what he did: so as punishment, like any good father punishes his son, I laid a curse I thought to be unbreakable upon him. I always meant to break it myself—any wizard worth their weight in salt might do so—before he lost his wits utterly. I am not cruel, child."

"You were not there the night he almost died and I broke the spell," she retorted. "And he had a father. Captain Solo was his father. And you made him kill him."

"But I was there. I was watching. You prayed aloud, warming his body with your own, and laid a kiss upon his lips. And Captain Solo?" The King laughed. "No, dear child. He killed him of his own free will. I laid no spell upon him. Is that what they told you? What he told them? What Lady Organa told everyone who would listen? He wished to signify his devotion to me, and the deed split his soul in half. He is a torn man, a lost and damned soul."

"You're lying," said Rey, but her voice shook. _I cannot doubt. I know he is good. I have always known._ "You put a spell on his uncle, too."

"Ah, yes," said the King, and his voice took on a particular note of malice. "The kindly old uncle, dear old Luke, so trusted by his sister. He nearly killed that boy trying to teach him how to use his gifts. Why else do you think I took him away?"

"No, no," Rey protested weakly, feeling as if she was drowning. She couldn't seem to take a deep breath, and slowly crumpled to her knees. "No…he said…he said…" She couldn't remember what Luke had said. _Pride and arrogance._ That had been it, hadn’t it? Or had it been something else? It was so hard to think, to make sense of it all.

"It is hard," said the King soothingly. "It is hard to accept the truth when one has been confounded by magic and lies all along. Do not think about it. Only accept it. You will understand in time."

That was the wrong thing to say. Rey looked up sharply, remembering the works of the philosophers she had found in the library. "But how am I to understand if I do not think?" she asked, seizing on that. "What understanding can there be without reason?" The fog lifted somewhat, and she sat up straighter, feeling able to breathe. "And what is reason without understanding? They must go together, or go not at all."

The King's lip curled. "Luke's pride was his downfall. Your faith in Benjamin Solo will be yours, child."

"If faith is all I have then I shall cling to it most ardently, as to a tree in a storm," she replied, and felt in her pocket—her fingers grasped her rosary, and she smiled.

"What have you there?" snapped the King.

"Only faith," she answered, and he held out a gnarled hand.

"Give it here," he ordered.

"How can I give you faith when you have none, alone and faithless?" she said, and he recoiled.

"Beggar-girl, do not play games with me," he ordered. "Word-magic is a game you will not win, faith or no faith. Give me what you have in your pocket."

"But I am not just a beggar-girl," she said. "I am a child of the fairies."

"Do you think that will stop me?" he demanded. "The Solo boy has deep magic and yet I took him. Organa has deep magic and yet I defeated her. You are nothing. You have no magic, only blood, and that will not save you." He came closer and bent down, close enough to breathe foul stench into her face where she sat. "I will take you far away from here, never to be seen again. I shall weave a net about the boy so strong he will not know himself; and then he shall do as I command forevermore. He will cut his own mother down and ensure my rule goes unchallenged. He will be a black knight at my beck and call. And at the very end, he shall kill even you with the cruelest stroke, and my enchantment shall be complete."

Rey did not answer, but in a stroke of inspiration, pulled the rosary from her pocket and in one movement pressed it to his forehead while her other hand seized his cloak and held him close.

He screamed, a high, thin sound, and struggled to get away from her; but he was weak and old despite all his magic, and Rey was young and strong and borne on a tide of desperate strength. The red guards advanced, drawing their steel with ringing sound, and she shoved the King away before leaping to her feet and holding out her crucifix. She had no weapon, no means of defense against the living dead, and she knew it.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost," she shouted, her voice ringing off the walls, "I command you to lay down your swords and go in peace!"

They halted, but did not move otherwise, and she clutched the cross harder. The King was writhing about on the floor, a mass of robes, and as he turned about, she saw that the place where she had pressed the cross was burnt and smoking.

 _If I could get to them all and touch them with this,_ she thought, but looked from man to man uncertainly. She was hampered by her skirts and unarmed, and they glittered with blood-colored mail and weapons. _My only weapon is..._

She shut her eyes and knelt, and did not pray—simply _felt,_ and listened to the sound of her own blood. Fairy's blood, Luke had said. She possessed power, thought she did not know how to touch it. _Come to me,_ she thought. There was something…a _something_ deep within her she had felt stirring at the gate…

Rey opened her eyes and stretched out her hands. _Something_ deep within her moved; _something_ had woken up at last. One of the guards stiffened, then fell to the ground, quite dead, a shimmering mist evaporating and flying up and away. _Go in peace_ , she thought.

"No!" screamed the King, who was still scrambling for purchase on the ground. "No, you cannot be—"

From out of the shadows, a shape came flying. Steel glinted, bright red and orange in the firelight, and Rey lurched to her feet in terror before she saw that the shape was Benjamin and the blade he bore was biting through plate and mail, leaving another guard dead. "Hold him fast!" bellowed her husband before turning on the third guard, and Rey whirled on the King, who was cringing away, and gripped him tight, dangling the crucifix in front of his face.

"Move and you get another," she said angrily. He went quite still, eyeing her venomously and with no small amount of fear.

Behind her, Ben was moving like a whirlwind on the last two guards. He had gone barefoot so as to be quiet, and was wielding a great broadsword two-handed, all force and weight where the undead guards were surefooted and swift. One of them caught him in the face with a well-placed slice, and Rey shouted a warning before Ben ran the thing through with his blade. A shimmer of golden mist sparkled upward, and the corpse fell to the ground before the remaining one took a stab at him from behind. Ben bellowed in pain as the blade caught him in the meat of his shoulder and fell to one knee. As the thing advanced for the killing blow, Ben swung his broadsword backward with his right hand and caught the guard directly in the crack of armor between shoulder and chin.

The ghastly thing fell away, and more gold light flew up in a glittering mist. Ben's eyes fixed directly on Rey and did not leave her face, not even when he stood, shoulder bleeding through his coat, and advanced on the pair of them, Rey and the King.

"My dear boy," said the King, voice quavering, like a weak old man, helpless. "I never—"

"You," said Ben, voice gone black and cold as ice; and his eyes moved then, looking at the King. "No, you shall not speak again. You have my leave to die, Your Grace." Rey pressed the cross to the King's cheek, and the man squealed in agony, his flesh hissing, before collapsing. She moved away quickly, and Ben brought the sword up. In a wide, long arc, he brought it down directly onto the man's neck.

Rey closed her eyes and fought her rising gorge as the sickening sounds of hacking flesh and running blood filled the foyer. He would not stop swinging the great broadsword. Finally, she heard steel ring on stone, and opened her eyes to see Ben, hacking away at the body, the sword he wielded denting and sparking against the marble.

"He's dead," she whispered, half-afraid of him. "You can stop."

He didn't hear her, just kept bringing it down again and again, heedless of the blood that soaked his right side and spattered up against his face. The steel rang and sparked, and Rey, seized by the horrible thought that he might stand there until Judgement Day hacking at a corpse, stood and quickly put herself between him and the ruined mass of gore and cloth upon the floor.

"Ben! Stop!" she cried, and stayed his hand, frantically trying to make him see. "Stop, he's dead. You can stop. Please. Stop. It's all right now. It's all right."

He fought against her for a moment, but faltered, and the sword slipped from his fingers and clattered ringing upon the floor. "Rey," he murmured, stumbling against her hands. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

"Yes, it's me," she said. There was movement, the sound of feet upon the floor. She knew the servants were there, and she didn't care. "Steady, now," she said, and steered him by the elbow to sit down in a chair. "Will someone bring hot water and bandages?" she asked, and a maid darted off to fetch them.

"Their blades are usually poisoned," he said faintly, and Rey pulled away the bloody jacket and shirt to see blackened, swollen flesh surrounding the deep wound between shoulder and neck.

"How do I—"

"You can't," he said, and covered her hand with his. "The house is yours. Pierre—"

The steward scurried forward. "My lord," he said, wringing his hands.

"You shall hear my last will. No doubt the King thought he had won, even in death," said Ben, seemingly struggling to speak. "It will not be so. You will give her all control of the accounts and assist her in—in giving whatever she desires to the poor, and—and all else." His eyes drifted shut. "And tell my mother—tell her I am sorry."

"You will not die," Rey said very forcefully.

"Only an accomplished sorcerer could heal this wound," Ben said.

"Just moments ago I broke a spell of necromancy on a corpse, with the help of neither force nor blade," Rey protested. "I felt something. I can do this, too."

"If you fail," said Ben, his hand still on hers, "know I hold you blameless in death as I did in life, and—forgive yourself, lady."

She pretended there were no tears streaking down her cheeks, and bent to her task. The scratch on his face was clean with blood, the one on his shoulder was ragged and blackened with poison. She laid her hand over his wound, making him grunt in pain, and closed her eyes, trying her hardest to find that place within herself again, the strange feeling of quick movement in her bones that had given the dead freedom and peace…

Her other hand clutched the crucifix, and she thought it felt warm in her palm. She meant to say the Ave Maria, or maybe a Paternoster, but what came out instead was, "Please. Please, do not let him die. Please. Help me."

Her fingers tingled, and she concentrated deeply, then heard a soft chorus of gasps and prayers from the assorted servants. Rey opened her eyes to see her hand, glowing softly with blue light, and a terrible pain seeping into her fingers as the blackness began to leave his flesh. "Oh, God," she gasped, but stood it until all the poison was gone from his skin before tearing her hand away and shaking it in agony, drops of noisome, oily liquid spraying from her fingers and smoking on the floor into nothing. She clutched her wrist and watched as the blue glow faded, leaving her hand looking as ordinary as it had that morning. Rey fell to her knees at Ben's feet, catching her breath and fighting tears. "It's over," she said, finding it hard to speak. "It's all over now."

Ben sat forward slowly, causing quite the uproar of movement from several valets who clearly thought he was fainting. "No, no, I'm all right," he said to them, and looked down at Rey with an expression of awe, his hair unbound, blood splattered across his face in a grisly display. He reached for her face with a blood-stained hand. "I—"

But what he meant to say remained unspoken, for another frantic knocking upon the front door sounded, and a valet leapt to his position, wrenching the mighty slab of oak open and revealing the stricken, snowy faces of first: the Lady Organa, clutching a walking-cane; second, Poe and Finn; and third, Luke.

The lady stepped inside, divesting herself of her wrappings and handing them to a still-stunned maid. She took in the scene before her: the foyer's fine marble floor awash in blood and ruin, the five crumpled corpses in red armor, and the unrecognizable corpse of the King. Her expression was neither shocked nor dispassionate; she only seemed to see what she saw and nothing else.

"Mother," said Ben, attempting to rise from his seat and failing.

The lady turned and her eyes lit upon the man, soaked in blood, attended upon by several shocked valets and Rey sitting at his feet, still in her grey silk gown, the hem and sleeves of which was stained with gore.

"Ben," she said, her voice small and shaking, and dropped her cane before striding to his chair in remarkably quick steps for a woman her age and clutching his head to her breast as if she would never let him go, and tears flowed down her cheeks and mingled with the blood and tears on the face of her son.


	16. In Which The Household Recovers

Rey sat down heavily at her dressing-table and wiped her stained hands on her skirt, before remembering it was silk and thus would not come out. "Oh, botheration," she muttered, and Terna patted her shoulder.

"Now then, it's only a dress," she said cheerfully.

"Dinner is being prepared, and all the places are set?" asked Rey as Terna handed her a cloth to wipe her face with.

"Yes, ma'am. Never fear, Cook's got it all handled." Terna unlaced the back of Rey's ruined dress and helped her out of it. "Bath now, dress after. Nobody will blame you for coming down late, I'm sure."

Rey let Terna help her into the steaming tub of round marble in the bathroom, and closed her eyes as the maid began to wash out her hair with rosewater and scrub her down. No, certainly nobody would.

After Lady Organa had wept over her son, she had stumbled and nearly fainted. Luke had caught her and laid her onto a sofa, then quickly taken charge of the house. Poe and Finn were set to the nasty work of removing the bodies with the valets and grooms while Luke had murmured a few quick words over Ben's bleeding shoulder and face, whereupon the wounds closed fast, leaving only a pale patch of raised flesh upon his shoulder and a thin white scar on his cheek.

After that, Rey had nearly fallen over herself, just from the sheer relief, and Luke had ordered a few maids to assist her to her chambers to recuperate while he and Ben's groom had helped Ben up the stairs into his own chambers. Somewhere in the middle of that, the cook, who had crept up to stare in fascinated horror at the scene in the foyer, had realized that the soup was burning, and upon smelling the air had raced back speedily to repair the damage done and prepare something larger for the six of them.

And so, thought Rey, here she was in her bath, heat gathering back into her bones as the blood was rinsed from her hands and feet. She didn't much want to leave the tub, but after the water turned pink and she was rinsed clean, she stepped out and wrapped the linen towel about her.

Back in the bedroom, a comfortable cotton gown was waiting ready on the bed, courtesy of the other two maids, along with a house robe. "Thank you," Rey told them, and quickly got dressed, letting Terna pin her hair up in a neat knot atop her head. "I think after tonight I will sleep for a week," she told her as the maid tied a red ribbon into her hair.

"You and us all, I think," said Terna.

~

Dinner was eaten quickly and then brandy and tea was served while Luke and Lady Organa delved into the machinations of the King and the enchantments placed upon the house.

Rey learned a good many things just by listening: the Lady had known that her brother was enchanted in the guise of a priest for eleven years, but still took his counsel on the rare occasion when she could get a letter to him; the Lady's Christian name was Leia; the rosary had been formed of some red stone and set with spells that would harm the King but none other, and had been Leia's last defense against attack, which made it all the more meaningful that she had given it to Rey; the great broadsword that Benjamin had used to cleave apart the living dead had been forged by him twelve years ago, and twisted since to dark magic by the King, which was how it had killed the guard and the King himself, but since the sword had been utterly destroyed in the melee he had no further use for it; and since Luke had brought tidings of the curse being lifted, Lady Organa had set off as quick as she was able to come—but not faster than the King.

"We feared you all dead when we came to the steps," said Poe. "He must have traveled like the wind, or a bird."

"He knew the instant the spell was broken," Benjamin said, dressed very finely in a deep blue jacket and white linen and lace. "He came at once with all haste and meant to take Rey from here, and enchant me again. He did not take her power into his reckoning." He smiled at Rey from across the table, and she felt warmth spread up into her breast.

"He said—" Rey hesitated, unsure of herself. "The King said you killed your father, but not under a spell."

The table went quite silent, and Leia set her cup down. "There are spells that a man may lay upon another that have naught to do with magic," she said softly.

Benjamin was no longer smiling, and looked down at the tablecloth as if he was wrestling with himself. "Did he tell you I wished to show my devotion?"

"He did," she said.

Benjamin shook his head slowly. "You felt his magic firsthand. You know how he ensnares the senses and makes one believe that what is white is black, and what is black is white. His words alone are a magic. I believed…" He shook his head. "I desired…I truly thought…"

"You don't have to tell me," she said quickly, sensing his struggle. "Not now, I mean. I did not intend to distress you."

He looked up at his mother. "Am I forgiven?" he asked, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Lady Organa regarded him with sorrow and a great tenderness. "You are my son. I thought you lost forever, yet here you sit. Of course you are forgiven, on the condition you forgive me for ever sending you away."

"And me, nephew," said Luke, "for the danger I put you in and the loss we suffered. I was proud and blinded by it."

Benjamin wiped at his eyes with a napkin and nodded. "You are both of you forgiven," he said, and blew his large nose. "And welcome to stay as guests as long as you please."

"We shall stay the night and go on to the capital tomorrow," said Luke. "Your mother has business with the House of Peerage and the Office of the Monarchy, and I should expect an invitation to a coronation shortly, not to mention a title or two."

"Very good," said Benjamin, and raised his glass. "To the rightful Queen, Leia of the House Organa."

They toasted, and Benjamin drank and set it down, then stood up from table. "No, you may all sit," he said, gesturing as they rose along with him. "I am retiring early, I think."

"If your shoulder pains you still, I may have a tisane—" Lady Organa began to say.

"No, Mother, it is not the shoulder." He blushed, the tip of his nose quite a pleasing rose color. "Lady Rey, if it please you, I should like to enjoy the pleasure of your… presence. Upstairs. Will you accompany me?"

Rey felt her whole face go hot and quickly stood up, her napkin dropping to the floor. "Yes," she gasped, barely able to look anyone at the table in the eye, and tucked her hand into the crook of her husband's arm, holding on for dear life.

"We may not come down at all for breakfast tomorrow morning," said Ben, looking round at the table. "I bid you all a good evening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice short chapter before the torrid sex they finally get to have in 17....we're almost done! Thank you so much for following along, reccing this on tumblr, twitter, WHATEVER, I love you all. If you like my writing I have a ko-fi at[ ko-fi.com/urulokid ] and I keep forgetting to plug it lol. THANK YOU


	17. In Which our Story Comes to A Happy End

Up in his bedroom, Ben wasted no time taking off the jacket, waistcoat, and shirt before stretching and feeling at his shoulder. "It does rather ache," he admitted to Rey, who was halfway through divesting herself of her gown and robe. "But not badly."

"And you?" Rey kicked off both shoes and came to stand close, half-afraid to touch him. "Is this…?" She pressed her finger-tips to his broad chest, and he sighed softly, but did not flinch from her touch. One of his hands came up and pressed her palm flat down over his heart, and she felt the heartbeat there, steady and quick.

"Yes," he murmured, and that was all he said.

Off came her petticoat. Off came his trousers; stockings, shoes, and before she knew what was happening he was kissing her, both arms locked about her waist like iron, moaning as his mouth found her cheek, lips, neck. "Ben," she gasped, one leg rising in spite of herself to hook about his waist.

"I _can_ smell you," he whispered, and inhaled deeply into the shining hair behind her ear. She reached up and loosed the ribbon and pins, and it all came tumbling down to cover his face and her neck. He breathed it in and buried his hands in the silken, clean mass. "Roses," he said, and sounded as if he might weep.

"Oh, what's the matter?" she asked quickly, turning her head.

"Nothing. The roses—I liked to sit on the terrace and smell them from the house. They made me feel—" He inhaled again and pushed the neck of her chemise off her shoulder, his fingers grazing her skin. "Human," he finished, and kissed her, tasting of salt, before loosening the ties and pulling the thing off her completely. "Holy God," he whispered, stepping back to look at her.

Rey blushed and covered her breasts with her hands, still shy of him, though she wanted him. "I—" She didn't know what to say and looked away in embarrassment, but he reached for her chin and made her look at him.

"You need not fear, I swear it," he whispered. "You are safe, and with me." His other hand traced down her chest and gently, carefully teased away her right hand—not forcing, but gently stroking, as one might gentle a horse, until she slowly slid her hand away and let him see her right breast, a small, firm thing tipped with pale pink nipples. His fingers caressed it, brushing across the tip, and she shivered and dropped the other hand.

"I—" She swallowed, trying to find words. "Will you—like this?" Her right hand's fingers pinched lightly and rolled at the nub of flesh, and Ben looked at her hands studiously, then copied her movements on the left breast. Rey made a soft noise as warmth flooded her body, and pressed her hands to his chest. "And you," she managed to say, before her fingers had found his own flat nipples and pinched them gently.

Ben let out a rather confused noise and seized her hands tight. "Who taught you _that_?" he managed.

"Well, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander," she said, teasing him.

"Christ," he muttered, smiling, and kissed her again.

"Should we—bed?" she asked between kisses.

"Mmm," he answered, hands tight on her back and waist, reaching all over, touching her. "The floor is more convenient, I think."

"The _floor_?" she said, scandalized, then forgot her outrage as he bent down and his mouth lit onto her breasts, hot tongue pressing there. "Ah… _yes_ , the floor," she gasped.

"Excellent," he growled, and held her fast as he knelt down with her, laying her flat on her back on the soft carpet before the fire. "I'll be quick; by God, I don't think I'll last."

"Then I shall pray for you," she said, smiling, and he laughed and laid another kiss on her, this one inside her thigh, before moving forward and pressing himself to her opening. She wriggled. "Too far back," she said quickly, and reached down between their bodies, moving a little and rubbing herself, the wetness coming slowly. "Ah," she moaned, and thought she might ease the way a little for him again. Her fingers began to work busily at the very top, and she let her head drop back as her breathing quickened and all at once, her body tightened, bringing climax and letting her go limp and peaceful.

"Every night I learn a new thing," he teased, his hands stroking her sides and breasts as she got her breath back. "Who knew sweet maids were such repositories of knowledge in all things matrimonial?"

"Oh, rubbish," she said, rolling her eyes and taking him lightly in hand. "I just know where my own parts are, is all—now, _there_ —" She pressed him in close and Ben's eyes opened wide, one hand finding purchase in the carpet and the other clutching her thigh as he thrust gently and solidly home.

"Unh," he said, sounding stunned, his eyes quickly shutting tight. " _Oh_."

"Oh, _God,_ " she groaned, and squirmed beneath him, the sensation of full heat nearly too much.

"Rey," he gasped, and bent his head, the dark hair falling across her shoulder.

"Is it—can you—" She couldn't get the words out; it felt as if he was lodged somewhere in her lungs.

"Yes, I can," he moaned, and drew out, then pushed back in. She was moved a few inches across the carpet by the force of it, and clung to him with both hands tightly, her knees up. "Holy _Christ,_ " he said between his teeth.

"You can open your eyes, you know," she reminded him, rather breathlessly. "Ben?"

"I—" He opened them, as if forgetting he had got them shut in the first place; another hard, slow thrust and she yelped, her tender backside scraping across the fine rug again. "I'm sorry," he managed, and clutched at her lower back in an effort to lift her off the carpet. "Is this—should I—?"

"No, don't," she said, and kicked her heels against his bare backside. "Keep going."

"I don't—" he caught his breath and one big hand came down to caress her brow, sweep the hair off her face. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't— _mind_ about that," she said through her teeth, desperately wanting all of him, the strength and power she knew he held back, rug-burns on her backside be damned. "Please. I just want you. Do anything you like. Anything. Please. Ben. _Please_."

"But—" His hips rolled again helplessly, and he groaned.

"If you truly hurt me, I shall scream for you to stop, I swear." She reached up under his arms and held herself tight to his broad chest. "Just— _take_ me, and don't stop."

He fixed his eyes on hers, his chest heaving as his hand wound its way into her hair. "I want—" he managed, and closed his eyes, as if the words pained him. "I want you to know one thing." His hips rolled yet again, and Rey fought a shout. "I did not kill him because he harmed me. I—I killed him because he threatened you, lady."

Rey felt a tear gather at the corner of her eye and stroked his hair from his brow. "Ben," she whispered, and he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes at her touch; then he came down, holding his body down against hers before his hips began to move, quick and hard, snapping back and forth as she held on. There was no movement, no cushioning weight of a bed to brace her; only the unforgiving floor and her own body to hold him as he slammed into her, over and over again.

She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into him, and shouted out all her terror and fear and rage from the day, the week, the months gone by—all of it gone, and given wholly to the gasping man between her thighs who was past the ability to speak. Somewhere within, she felt the strange sense of _building_ , and moaned into the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

"Don't, don't you stop," she begged, and he didn't; and in moments she felt herself tightening about him and shouted out in alarm, all the force in her body directed to the muscle and sinew between her legs.

Ben echoed her shout, grimacing as her body went taut, and quickened his pace as she relaxed into an uncaring, exhausted stupor, languid beneath him. "Rey," he managed, his eyes gone glassy and shining. " _Rey—_ " His face tightened and he grimaced as his hips moved more forcefully for a few turns, and went still with a moan, and the entirety of him came down on her like a heavy marionette whose strings have all been cut.

Both of them lay there on the floor, sweating and breathing, until he peeled himself away from her skin, his labored breathing hot on her shoulder, head bent over hers. "I didn't mean… to hurt you," he said. "If you're hurt. Are you hurt?"

"You didn't," she said, smiling at him dreamily. "The opposite, really. And you really must stop harping on about it so." She reached up and stroked his long hair. "I'm not made of porcelain."

"You…you can attain it more than once in a span?" Ben looked intrigued.

"Well, yes." Rey stretched out, all her limbs feeling pleasantly soft. "Women, for the most part, can. I hear it is not the same with the rougher sex."

"It is not," he said, and looked down. "You see, the formidable weapon diminishes as we speak." He paused. "Or… _would_ diminish, were I less…easily excitable. At the moment."

She giggled. "Formidable indeed."

"So, you must tell me: where did you learn about women and what they can…do?" Ben leaned on one arm, looking down at her.

"I was a maid in a brothel for a few months," she informed him, rather enjoying his startled look. "You hear things from the ladies, and from behind doors and such."

"A brothel," he said, and blinked. "And…what _else_ did you learn in this establishment?"

"I wasn't a—I didn't—" She playfully smacked at him with her hands and rolled over, her back to him. "I only heard about things! I didn't _learn_ them!"

"So tell me what you heard about," said Ben, leaning close over her shoulder and kissing at her neck. "Come, now, dear wife, entertain your poor old husband."

"You are—" She cast about in her head for a fitting word, and settled on one. " _Inexorable_." His hands found her backside, and she squealed in surprise as the touch of his warm fingers there.

"Inexorable indeed. God, but you've got the roundest—" Ben squeezed, and she squeaked again, then rolled over and pretended to struggle until he had her safe in his arms, side by side. "So tell me. Just one thing." He smiled, his hair all mussed, and kissed her forehead.

"Well," said Rey, pretending to think very hard. "One girl specialized in a particular art of fornication involving—the mouth, and the male parts."

"The mouth," said Ben, sounding fascinated. "I don't suppose such an act would be considered fornication…in a marriage bed, would it?"

"Well, I suppose not, come to think of it," said Rey, eyes narrowed mischievously. "Perhaps you should ask your uncle. I once came upon her practicing in the kitchen with a carrot. She said it was of the utmost import that one not choke, or induce oneself to…become indisposed."

Ben snorted. "A carrot." He looked a bit askance at her, and cleared his throat. "I don't think consulting Uncle Luke will be necessary. How precisely does one…commit this act?"

"Well," said Rey, sitting up and pushing him to lie on his back, "you might have the man stand, or sit, or perhaps lie on the bed."

"Or…the floor," said Ben, watching her through narrowed eyes. "Go on."

"And then," said Rey, moving down his body until her head hovered above his thighs, "she said you most delicately press your tongue to the very tip of the…weapon, and all about it." Rey bent to demonstrate, and Ben's hands immediately took great fistfuls of the carpet, his breathing quite tight and short.

"And then?" he prompted when he could breathe again, peering down past his chest as she lifted her head.

"And then," she said, "you simply take as much of the man into your mouth as you can, mimicking the movements of…intercourse, while making up the rest with a hand, well oiled."

"We don't have oil," he said stupidly.

"No, we don't," Rey said, and licked her hand from palm to fingers, never taking her eyes off his, then bent to her task a second time.

"Oh, Holy God _Almighty_ ," said Benjamin Solo.

~

Queen Leia Organa was crowned a week afterward, with great pomp and ceremony. Her first act as Queen was to name her only son, Benjamin, her heir, and bestow upon him the titles of Duke of Corburg and the family title of Earl of Skye-on-Walker, which gave him all the lands of Corburg, the forest surrounding it, and the great estate house, along with a good deal of land about the capital. She did away with all the unjust laws signed by the King, and became widely known for her kindness and good works, and was often seen walking among her people, speaking with them as if they were her own family.

Poe Dameron and Finn were both created Barons and could be found at any time riding about either on a mission for the Queen or simply taking the air from Corburg to the capital, always in each other's company, and entirely inseparable.

As for the rest of the Court of Thieves, Rey (newly created Countess of Skye-on-Walker) took a great portion of the wealth that had belonged to the King and bought the Queen's old townhome, making it a house for the poor. The Church began to be ill-contented, saying that she gave too much away and did not seek to save the souls of the poor, and also that they thought she might be a witch; whereupon she bought every chapel and church from the East to the West of Corburg and made them all into refuge-homes for the poor of the city, and very soon there was hardly a beggar to be seen in the streets, except for the bishops.

Luke took to visiting the great house in secret once or twice a month and teaching Rey the things he had taught his nephew. She learned to brew tisanes and cast small spells, to do little glamours and heal wounds; but she never forgot to attend Mass and kept the red rosary by her side always. She was better at some things than her husband: for the fairy blood was stronger in her veins, and soon gained a reputation in the city for her skills, as steady processions of country-folk and city-folk came in and out of the kitchen courtyard to ask favors and beg little spells of the lady of the house; this one for love, that one for healthy children, another for a sick cow. Benjamin at first took no small umbrage in the fact that she was more than a match for him in areas of Magic and Enchantment, but learned to accept it, as all men must.

The years went by, and it seemed not long at all before the Queen took ill and died of old age, and all the country was in great mourning for six whole months and went about in black. They buried the Queen with the enchanted mirror she had given to her beloved son so many years ago. Benjamin was crowned King, and Rey his Queen Consort, and they kept their great house by Corburg for summering and held court there often. Stricken by the loss of his dear sister, Luke refused any honors Benjamin offered and kept to himself thereafter, staying in the countryside; but Poe was the King's most trusted advisors in all matters of the common folk, and Finn became a Captain of his armies (he refused to accept any higher post).

The King and Queen were beloved by all their people, and had six fine children, three boys and three girls: and to the end of their days they did indeed live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S IT WE ARE DONE AAAAH. Thank you so much to everyone who subscribed and left kudos and a most special thank you to Picarito, mrsmancuspia, semperfidani, and whuttothewhut for their lovely moodboards and art <3 I'll be taking prompts over at my tumblr, @urulokid, so feel free to slide into my ask box!


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